Faker
by madmother2
Summary: A counselling session leads to a surprising revelation and gossip leads too a difficult situation. This story follows Rocky Road chapter 26; please read that first. Contains spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Author's note: This takes place after chapter 26 of Rocky Road – please read that first. Contains spoilers for seasons 1-4.

Faker

Martin looked up as his consulting room door opened and realised that he'd forgotten the time. As Chelsey came in with her father and sister, followed by Paul Milligan, Martin hurried to put chairs in a circle for them. As they sat down, he noticed that Chelsey seemed annoyed; she had her arms folded across her chest and a big scowl replaced her usual shy smile.

'Everything all right?' he asked.

Chelsey's scowl deepened,

'Everyone's being stupid.'

'No, we're not. You're being a brat,' said Emily angrily.

'I am not!'

'Yes you are!'

'Girls, stop it,' said Ian Baker, firmly.

Chelsey and Emily looked rebellious but subsided.

'Has she been like this all day?' Martin asked.

'Yes,' said Emily.

Martin looked at Ian Baker, who nodded,

'She's not been herself.'

'In what way?'

'They've been arguing all day.'

'It's not my fault,' said Chelsey in an aggrieved tone, 'Emily started it.'

'I did not!'

'Yes you did! You told me to get lost!'

'Yes, because you wouldn't leave me alone.'

'I wanted you to play with me.'

'I didn't want to.'

'No. You wanted to do your stupid maths instead!'

'Maths is not stupid!'

'Yes it is!'

'It isn't!'

'It is!'

'No it isn't!'

'Shut up!' said Martin firmly.

Chelsey and Emily both glared at him but stopped arguing. Martin forced himself to talk quietly to Chelsey,

'How are you feeling today?'

'All right,' replied Chelsey sulkily.

'Have you eaten properly?'

'Yes.'

'How are you emotionally?'

Chelsey gave Martin a puzzled look so he elaborated,

'Are you feeling upset? Angry? Guilty?'

'Yes.'

Martin waited and after a pause Chelsey continued,

'I feel angry.'

'Yes?'

'Mum and Dad keep making me angry.'

'It's perfectly normal to feel angry with your parents sometimes. I used to feel very angry with my parents from time to time.'

'But your parents were horrid to you.'

'True.'

Beside him, Paul Milligan summoned up all of his years of medical training and somehow managed not to react. What did Chelsey mean by 'horrid'? Was Martin abused as a child? He decided to try to have a quiet chat with the Bakers as soon as possible.

'My parents are nice but I still feel angry all the time.'

'It's quite normal to feel angry in the circumstances. Your life has been affected by something outside of your control. You've lost friends and had a very frightening experience.'

Chelsey seemed reassured but Ian Baker was frowning,

'So, she's just going to carry on feeling angry?'

'For a while.'

'So, she's going to keep on being a complete brat indefinitely?' asked Emily, outraged.

'I am not a complete brat!'

'Yes, you are!'

'I am not!'

'Yes, you are. You're behaving like a spoilt baby.'

'At least I'm not a freak!'

'I'd rather be a freak than a baby.'

'I hate you!' said Chelsey, launching herself at Emily.

Emily held her off and Ian got up to pull her away, but before he could, Chelsey bent down and bit Emily's arm.

'Ow! That hurts!'

Horrified, Martin helped Ian Baker pull Chelsey away, then examined Emily's arm. Luckily, the skin was unbroken so Martin returned to his seat and listened. Ian Baker had sat Chelsey back on her chair and was talking firmly to her,

'That was naughty, Chelsey. Say sorry.'

Chelsey glowered and turned away silently.

'Chelsey! Apologise now.'

Chelsey ignored her father. Emily waited but when Chelsey stayed quiet, she said,

'Fine, then I'm telling Dad what a faker you are.'

Chelsey shot Emily a horrified look but before she could speak, Ian Baker said,

'What do you mean, Emily?'

'She's been pretending to be bad at maths. She's almost as good at maths as I am.'

'Is that true, Chelsey?' asked Ian.

Chelsey squirmed and looked at the floor but eventually nodded.

'Why?'

'April says Emily's a freak.'

'April's an idiot,' said Emily, 'She's going to spend her life cleaning other people's houses for five pounds an hour. I'm going to be a millionaire by the time I'm twenty-five.'

'How?'

'Insurance companies pay top mathematicians a fortune. Or I could go into the Stock Market or one of the banks. Either way I'm going to be rich.'

'But Mum and Dad are sending you away!'

'No, they're not.'

'They are, they're sending you to Oxford. You're going to live with strangers and never see us again!'

'No, I'm not. Mum and Dad talked about me going to Oxford but I'm doing an Open University degree instead so I'm staying at home.'

'You are?'

'Yes. You don't get the house to yourself yet.'

Chelsey smiled, then looked guiltily at Emily who was unconsciously rubbing her arm where she had been bitten,

'I'm sorry I bit you. Does it hurt?'

'Not really. Sorry I told on you but Miss Glasson knows anyway.'

'No, she doesn't.'

'Yes, she does. When we were playing with Peter yesterday she asked you what the cube root of seven hundred and twenty-nine is and you said nine without even thinking about it. She knows.'

Chelsey looked embarrassed.

'Time to confess, kiddo, ' said Emily.

Chelsey sighed and nodded; her days of faking it were over.

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	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Two

Paul Milligan waited impatiently while Martin finished signing the last of his repeat prescriptions. They were going to the chemist so that Martin could drop off the prescriptions and so that he could get a pharmacist's perspective on a drug trial that he was interested in. Sally Tishell was an intelligent woman and he found her input very useful. And she was a good cook too. She insisted on cooking for him whenever he came round but tonight he was going to insist that she let him take her out for a meal. Paul was also going to ask her what she knew about Martin's 'horrid' parents.

As they left the surgery, Paul said,

'I gather Emily's a genius.'

'Yes.'

'And possibly Chelsey too?'

'It seems highly probable.'

'And the parents are ordinary?'

'Yes. Father's a fisherman, mother's a nurse. Slightly above average intelligence, but no more than that, I would say.'

'That was certainly the impression I got from the counselling sessions. Fascinating.'

Martin gave Paul an enquiring look, so Paul elaborated,

'I find the transference of intelligence from parents to offspring fascinating. Genius is particularly interesting because nobody knows how a genius comes into being. To find two geniuses in one family is incredible. I wish the circumstances made it possible to study them but it would be unethical.'

'You'd probably find them uncooperative anyway.'

'Why do you say that?'

'In my experience, patients do not understand the value of research.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. I made some observations to Miss Glasson regarding her hormonal responses during different stages of her menstrual cycle and she didn't understand the research value of my questions at all.'

'When did you ask her about it?'

'One evening, when we were out together.'

'You were out together? On a date?' asked Paul, incredulously.

'Yes,' replied Martin defensively, 'I wanted some data for a theory I'm developing on the significance of minute hormonal fluctuations in women. She seemed very emotional so I asked her if she was pre-menstrual.'

'Did she hit you?'

'No,' replied Martin, startled, 'Should she have?'

'Would you have realised how inappropriate your behaviour was if she had?'

'Inappropriate? How?' said Martin indignantly.

'You were not in a medical situation nor had Miss Glasson agreed to take part in a research programme. To ask her questions for research purposes without getting her permission first was not only inappropriate but unethical.'

Martin paused on the edge of a blistering retort as the significance of Paul's reply resonated through his brain, triggering memories from his Morals and Ethics lectures at medical school. Paul was right, he had behaved very badly. No wonder Louisa had been so angry; she wouldn't want anything to do with a man who violated medical ethics. He would have to apologise to her.

Fortunately, they arrived at the chemist so Martin didn't have to admit to Paul that he was right. Mrs Tishell was stocking the shelves but stopped as soon as she saw the doctors,

'Doctor Ellingham and Doctor Milligan, how lovely to see you both. What can I do for you?'

'Repeat prescriptions,' said Martin curtly, placing the scripts on the counter and turning to go.

'I'll make sure they're ready for first thing tomorrow. How's Peter? Not caught any of the bugs going round, I hope.'

'He's fine,' replied Martin reluctantly.

'And how's Louisa? When does her plaster come off?'

'She's fine. Next week,' said Martin going out through the door and shutting it firmly behind him.

As he made his way down the hill, Martin made sure that he walked quickly and didn't make eye contact with anyone but despite that two of Aunty Joan's friends insisted on talking to him,

'Hello, Doctor. How's…'

'Can't stop.'

'But…'

Martin side stepped quickly and hurried on, using his long legs to outpace the elderly women.

Panting slightly (one of the women had had a surprising turn of speed), Martin arrived at the cottage that he and Louisa were sharing. Inside, he found Louisa in the kitchen feeding Peter. Peter was starting to take an interest in feeding himself though at the moment he was only able to wave a spoon about in random directions. As Martin came in, Peter hit the edge of the table with his spoon and then beamed as he managed to do it again.  
Louisa looked up and smiled and Martin felt his heart pound. Martin was astonished by how much an instinctive hormonal reaction could affect him. Louisa only had to smile at him for him to want to make love to her. Perhaps if he gave it some thought a way could be found despite Louisa's plaster cast.

'Everything all right, Martin?'

'Yes…No.'

'What's wrong?'

'I need to apologise to you.'

'Why?' asked Louisa, with some trepidation, wondering what he'd done this time.

'When we went to that concert, I behaved unethically. I apologise.'

'What? Which concert?'

'The one where your horrid friend Holly played the cello.'

'Yes?'

'I behaved unethically that evening…when I asked you if you were pre-menstrual.'

'Unethically?'

'Yes.'

'What are you talking about, Martin? You were tactless and insensitive but why was it unethical?'

'I asked you questions for my medical research without asking your permission first.'

'I see.'

Louisa's expression was unreadable and Martin looked at her hesitantly unsure what to say. After a minute he sat down to wait for her reaction.

In the kitchen above the pharmacy, Paul turned on his laptop and opened the file on the new drug. Sally Tishell pulled up a chair and began to read. Within minutes they were deep in discussion on the potential allergic reactions. After an hour they stopped for dinner, a delicious beef stew that had been simmering on Sally's hob for hours. Sighing happily, Paul said,

'That was delicious, thank you.'

'You're welcome.'

'Tomorrow I'd like to buy you dinner.'

'Buy me dinner?' said Sally incredulously.

'Yes.'

'At a restaurant?'

'Yes.'

'But why?'

'To thank you for all the meals you've made for me.'

'But there's no need.'

'I want to,' insisted Paul.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. Where would you like to go?'

'Well, I don't mind. There's Mrs Wilson's hotel, that's very nice but rather pricey, I'm afraid. Bert Large's restaurant is supposed to be very nice. Or there's the pub but the chef's ill at the moment so they're just fetching food in from the fish and chip shop.'

'Shall I make a reservation at Bert's for tomorrow evening at seven, then?'

'Well, if you're sure…that would be lovely.'

Sally's face was flushed with pleasure and excitement and without thinking Paul leant forward and kissed her.

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Three

Sally Tishell froze as Paul's lips met hers. For a moment she was too surprised to react and then she was returning the kiss. For several minutes she lost herself in the pleasure coursing through her body but when Paul pulled her close to him, the feel of his body against hers shocked out of her blissful haze. Horrified, she pulled away,

'I can't…I mustn't…I'm married.'

'Oh God. I'm sorry,' said Paul guiltily, embarrassed by his lack of control.

He'd found Sally attractive from the first moment they'd met but a discreet question to Martin had confirmed that Sally was married and he had put his attraction to the back of his mind. Or so he'd thought, until five minutes ago. Flustered, he apologised again,

'I'm really sorry. I…um…'

Paul stopped, realising that he had no idea what to say. To say he didn't mean to kiss her would be a half-truth; he had wanted to kiss her for days now. To tell her that he thought her beautiful would sound trite and unbelievable. In the end he simply waited for her to say something.

'I think you'd better leave.'

Without protest, Paul quietly gathered his things together. He wanted to say something but his body was screaming with arousal and the only thing he could think was that he wanted to make love to her and telling her that would be pointless; unless Sally was very unobservant, she knew that he wanted her. Finally, as he was walking out of the door, he said,

'Can I call you tomorrow?'

Sally nodded hesitantly and watched him walk down the road.

Neither she nor Paul noticed the person hidden in the shadows, watching them.

After Paul had left, Sally went and sat at her kitchen table, her mind racing and her body awash with desire. Had he meant to kiss her? He couldn't really be interested in her, could he? Paul was far too young for her; he could only be in his mid-twenties. He probably just reacted to the body chemistry between them. Yes, it was probably only a moment's impulse brought about by pheromones. Nothing more. So, she could relax and not worry about it.

Sally tidied the kitchen and then did the prescriptions, ready for the following morning and then went to bed.  
As she lay in bed, for the first time in several years, Sally's thoughts were not on Martin Ellingham.

In the bedroom above the surgery, Paul's thoughts were focussed firmly on Sally. Having berated himself for his stupidity in kissing her, he considered how to convince her that they could still be friends. Having decided that limited honesty was the best policy, he turned his mind to the far more pleasant matter of imagining what might have happened if Sally hadn't stopped him.

Louisa looked at Martin, who was sat patiently waiting for her to shout at him. And she was annoyed. Annoyed that he still didn't understand why she'd been upset. Annoyed that it had taken so long for him to apologise. But she swallowed her anger, aware that Martin had given her an opportunity to resolve another argument. She smiled gently at him, saying,

'I accept your apology.'

'Good.'

'Talking of medical ethics, won't you get into trouble if Peter and I transfer back from Truro?'

Martin was about to issue a vehement denial, when his innate honesty prevented him; doctors were not supposed to care for their own families. Reluctantly, he said,

'I might.'

'Then we'll have to stay where we are. Unless you think we should register at Wadebridge?'

'Absolutely not! Doctor Evans is a doddering idiot. How his patients survive his incompetence is beyond me.'

'We'll stay with Doctor Fellows then.'

'He seems adequate,' agreed Martin, grudgingly.

Martin knew that other doctors weren't allowed to treat family members but he found the idea of Louisa and Peter's health care being in the hands of some other, less competent, doctor, horrifying. He made a silent vow to check every diagnosis himself.

Louisa relaxed. She had been trying to make Martin see how inappropriate it would be for him to treat them for several weeks now. He had been stubbornly trying to pretend that the rules didn't apply to him and she had been afraid that someone would report him to the Medical Ethics Board.

'Why don't you play with Peter while I make supper?'

'Make supper? Louisa, with your arm still in plaster surely it would be more sensible for me to cook.'

'I've planned what to do. I'll call you if I need you.'

'It still seems unwise. If you drop something you could be seriously hurt.'

'Don't fuss, Martin! I know what I'm doing.'

Martin subsided and took Peter through to the lounge. Whilst Louisa cooked, Martin helped Peter practice sitting up. At five months, Peter wasn't quite in control so Martin made sure that there were cushions all around Peter so that he didn't hurt himself when he toppled over. Martin sat Peter in the middle of the cushions and handed him toys to play with, describing each toy carefully as he did so,

'This is a stuffed bear. It is brown and white and made from foam and fake fur. It has plastic eyes.'

Peter took the bear and tried to lift it to his face. He toppled over backwards and looked in puzzlement at the ceiling. Martin calmly sat him up again and handed him another toy,

'This is a teething ring. It's blue and made of plastic.'

This time Peter successfully brought the toy up to his face and happily began to chew on it. He stayed upright until he pulled the teething ring out of his mouth and banged it on the cushion beside him. The vigorous movement made him lose balance again.

Martin carried on sitting Peter up and giving him toys until Louisa had finished cooking. She needed Martin to dish up but she was very pleased to have managed even if it was only smoked mackerel and salad with boiled potatoes.

After they'd eaten, they cleaned the kitchen together and then Martin bathed Peter and brought him to Louisa for his last bottle of the evening. Exhausted by all the sitting he had done, Peter fell asleep as soon as he'd had enough milk. Martin carried him up to bed and stayed for a few minutes in his room, making sure that he was sound asleep. He was hoping that Louisa would be interested in making love and he didn't want them to be interrupted by Peter.

When he came downstairs, Louisa had fallen asleep on the sofa. She was smiling in her sleep and despite the bags under her eyes she looked breathtaking. Martin stared at her as a huge wave of emotion crashed over him. For the first time he understood why people sacrifice themselves to save the people they love. The love he felt was so complete that anything else was irrelevant.

He was trying to decide whether or not too wake her, when his phone rang,

'Ellingham.'

'Doc, you've got to come. He says he's going to kill himself.'

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	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Four

'Who? Your father?'

'No, of course not, Doc. Dad's fine. He's trying to talk Danny out of it.'

'Danny Steel?'

'Yes. He's been acting oddly since he got here and all of a sudden, out of nowhere like, he leapt to his feet, pulled out a knife and told everyone that he was going to cut his throat.'

'Where are you?'

'At the pub. He's at the end by the slot machine.'

'What? Never mind. I'm on my way.'

'Hurry, Doc. Joe Penhale's arrived and he's trying to arrest him!'

Al's voice held a note of genuine panic and Martin swore under his breath. Bert was good with people and an adequate choice of person to delay a suicide, despite his ignorance and generally bizarre behaviour, whereas Joe Penhale was probably the worst possible choice. His insensitivity and officiousness were combined with a level of stupidity unusual even in Port Wenn. His pomposity grated on people in a normal state of mind. Someone who was deranged could easily be driven to violence.

Martin bent over to wake up Louisa, only to find her looking up at him anxiously,

'Has something happened to Danny?'

'Suicidal. I've got to go.'

'I'll come too.'

'You can't. You've got to stay with Peter.'

Martin grabbed his bag and ran out of the door, ignoring Louisa's glare and muttered imprecations.

The pub was only a couple of minutes away and Martin was soon barging his way through the onlookers,

'Out of the way!'

The villagers reluctantly parted to let Martin through and he made his way to the far end of the bar where Al, Bert and Joe were stood in a loose semicircle facing Danny. Danny was stood with his back against the wall brandishing a large hunting knife. As Martin drew near he heard Penhale saying,

'You're only making it worse for yourself…'

'Shut up, Joe!' said Martin.

'But I've got a duty to protect the public.'

'Make the public give us plenty of space then.'

'But he's got a knife.'

'I know he's got a knife. I'm not blind. I need to talk to him to find out whether he has a medical problem or a psychological problem', said Martin, exasperated.

'But he might hurt you, Doc.'

'I'll be fine. Go away and let me work.'

Joe looked hurt but Martin glared at him until he reluctantly walked to the other end of the bar, saying,

'Nothing to see here…'

'Imbecile,' muttered Martin turning his attention to Danny.

'That's a bit harsh, isn't it, Martin?' said Danny, using his normal holier-than-thou tone of voice.

'I thought I was being generous,' replied Martin absentmindedly, studying Danny carefully.

Danny was pale and sweating and his hands were shaking. He had lowered the knife slightly and was concentrating solely on Martin.

'You don't believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt, do you?'

'I just say what I think,' replied Martin, defensively. Why was being honest so wrong? Why did people want him to lie to them? Martin forced himself to stop speculating about society's hypocrisy and concentrated on Danny, who was saying,

'I wish I could do that,' said Danny, wistfully.

'What?'

'Just come out and say exactly what I'm thinking.'

'Why can't you?'

'I tried but I can't. I just can't be rude to people. I always find myself telling them what they want to hear. That's why Lou dumped me, you know. I told her what I thought she wanted to hear rather than telling her the truth and when she found out she dumped me. She told me that I am without substance.'

'Without substance?'

'Yes, and she's right. I'm just a straw man blowing in whichever direction the wind blows. You want me to agree with you? I will. Just say something and I'll agree with it.'

'You've had too much to drink.'

'Actually, I've only had two pints. Seems to have gone straight to my head though. So, yes, you're right, I have had too much. It's strange, I used to be able to drink a lot more than two pints without getting drunk.'

'Are you taking any medication?'

'None of your business.'

'I'll take that as a yes. What have you taken?'

'Just some herbal remedies.'

'Are you insane? Most herbal remedies haven't even been tested let alone approved for medicinal use.'

'Saint John's Wort has,' said Danny, indignantly.

'True but you should have gone to see your doctor first.'

'I did. The stuff he gave me didn't work.'

'So you've been taking Saint John's Wort instead?'

'Well, no. I've been taking them both.'

'Both!' said Martin, horrified, 'What did your doctor prescribe?'

'Prozac.'

Martin bit back his exasperation, remembering just in time that he was talking to a suicidal man. With elaborate patience, he explained,

'Saint John's Wort can react badly with other anti-depressants. How are you feeling? Anxiety? Nausea? Any heart palpitations?'

'How did you know that? Have you've been spying on me?'

'Don't be bloody stupid! I know it because I'm a doctor and those are some of the most common side-effects from mixing serotonin enhancing anti-depressants with Saint John's Wort.'

'You have been spying on me!'

Danny face contorted with rage and he raised his knife and lunged in Martin's direction.

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	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Five

'Danny! No!'

Danny stopped with the knife millimetres from Martin's chest as Louisa's voice rang out above the background noises of the pub. Martin took a careful step back as Louisa ran across the room,

'Careful, Louisa.'

Louisa ignored him and went to Danny, saying,

'Danny, what are you doing?'

'I don't know. I felt so angry. He…he's been spying on me.'

'Martin? What makes you say that?'

'He knows how I'm feeling. How can he know that unless he's been spying on me?'

'Martin's a very talented doctor and it doesn't take a medical genius to guess that you're feeling terrible. You're sweating and your pupils are dilated and you look awful. Can you actually see anything?'

'Things are a bit blurry. So Martin wasn't spying on me?'

'No, I wasn't,' said Martin.

Danny ignored Martin and waited for Louisa to say,

'He wasn't.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, he's been at work or with me all day, Danny. But what are you doing carrying a knife about, anyway?'

'I've decided to kill myself.'

'But why? I thought everything was going so well for you. You told me you'd landed another big contract.'

'I have.'

'And you find being a Christian immensely rewarding, you said.'

'I do.'

'So, what's wrong?'

'I miss you so much, Lou. It's just not the same without you. I've had girlfriends since and a few one-night-stands but it never worked because they weren't you. I don't think I'll ever stop loving you.'

Louisa reached down and took the knife from Danny and put it on a table. Then she gently put her arms around him, saying,

'Danny, I'll always love you.'

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	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Six

Louisa's words hit Martin like a sledgehammer. He felt his gorge rise and he started to shake. Of course Louisa didn't love him. How could she when even his own mother didn't? His heart was beating so rapidly that he barely heard Louisa's next words over the rushing blood,

'But I'm not in love with you any more.'

Martin staggered and Bert took his arm and helped him sit down,

'Steady, Doc. You had a near miss there. You just sit down for a minute.'

Louisa looked around worriedly but didn't dare move from Danny's side. When she had seen Danny about to stab Martin she had thought that her world was ending. She'd had to stop Danny so she'd said what he needed to hear but she couldn't lie to him about something so important. Martin was safely sat down so Louisa turned her attention back to Danny, who said, resignedly,

'It's Martin, isn't it?'

'Yes but you were my first love and I'll always love you as a friend.'

'A friend…'

'I know it's not what you want to hear but I won't lie to you about something so important.'

Danny slid down the wall and sat with his hands covering his face,

'Why didn't it work between us?'

Louisa sat down beside him,

'I couldn't cope with being lied to. Both times that we were together you lied to me.'

'Only a couple of times!'

'I know but I didn't want to spend the rest of my life being lied to. That's what my father always did. He'd lie his way out of trouble and he used to get us to back him up. I can still remember the first time he got me to lie for him. I was six and he got me to tell his bookie that he'd gone away to work on an oil rig.'

'That was wrong. I would never have done that.'

'I'm sure you wouldn't but when you started lying to me I felt so angry. And the anger destroyed the love I felt.'

'So why did you agree to try again when Mum was having trouble?'

'I thought you'd changed. And I thought I could fall in love with you again.'

'But you didn't?'

'No and you hadn't really changed. You told me you were going to stay but really you were looking for new jobs all the time.'

'I thought you'd come to London with me.'

'Port Wenn is my home. I hope I'll stay here for the rest of my life.'

'I love Port Wenn but London is my home now.'

'So it was never going to work. If you'd stayed here you would have been miserable and if I'd gone with you to London, I would have been miserable. We're too different.'

'I suppose you're right.'

Danny sounded calmer. His voice was quiet and full of regret and, for the first time, Louisa felt that he was seeing their relationship as it really was; body chemistry and friendship rather than romantic love.  
Danny sat quietly but his hands were still sweating and he still looked ill. Louisa turned to Martin, expecting him to tell them what to do, but he was staring blankly into space. Louisa waited for a couple of minutes, then said,

'Martin, do you need to examine Danny?'

Martin didn't respond and Bert, who had been listening with avid interest, said,

'He's a bit shook up.'

Louisa looked helplessly at Bert,

'I think we ought to take Danny home but I don't know if that's the right thing to do.'

'That is a tricky one. Hmm… I know what to do.'

Bert looked around the pub,

'Al, where's my drink?'

'Over there, Dad,' said Al, pointing to a table a few feet away.

Bert picked up his pint of beer and carried it over. He stood in front of Martin and drank noisily. Winking at Louisa, he bent over and offered the drink to Martin,

'Here you are, Doc. Have a spot of this. Nothing like a drop of bitter to set you to rights. You don't mind sharing mine do you? I don't think I've got anything and a bit of saliva never hurt anyone, anyway.'

Bert raised the glass to Martin's mouth and tilted,

'Mind you, John's dishwasher's broken down so he's been washing glasses by hand so there might be a bit of dirt in there. Still, we've all got to eat a peck of dirt before we die. Isn't that right, Doc?'

The glass was about to touch Martin's lips when Martin gave a shudder and pushed it violently away, spilling beer on his trousers,

'Bert, what are you doing? You idiot! Sharing drinks is one of the most unhygienic things you can do. A person's saliva contains millions of potentially infectious agents; viruses, bacteria, pieces of rotting food. Your mouth is a breeding ground for disease. Even someone as stupid as you should be able to understand that.'

Martin barged his way past Bert and knelt down next to Danny, completely missing Bert's triumphant smirk. Martin looked at Danny but didn't try to touch him,

'Where are you staying?'

'Sailor's Cottage. I've rented it for a couple of months.'

'I'd like to examine you but I'd rather do it there.'

'Okay,' agreed Danny, listlessly.

'Can you stand?'

Danny got to his feet and with Martin on one side and Louisa on the other, he slowly made his way out of the bar. As they left, Louisa looked over her shoulder and silently mouthed, 'Thank you,' to Bert.

Sailor's Cottage was only a couple of minutes walk from the pub, near the slipway. Danny opened the door and Martin was pleased to see that the interior was reasonably tidy. There were a few bits and pieces scattered about but the kitchen was clean and the washing up had been done. Whilst it wasn't definite proof of anything, people with long term depression sometimes found themselves unable to cope with routine tasks, such as washing up.

'Would you like a cup of tea?' asked Danny.

'Not for me. You shouldn't have caffeine after seven pm. It causes insomnia.'

'Have you got any de-caff?' asked Louisa.

'I've got de-caff coffee.'

'Why don't I make it, whilst Martin examines you?'

Danny nodded and led Martin upstairs into a small but comfortable bedroom. Martin ducked to avoid the doorframe and led Danny to the bed,

'Take off your shirt and lie down, please.'

Danny obeyed him and Martin opened his bag and took out his stethoscope. His examination confirmed his observations from the pub; Danny was suffering the side effects from mixing medications. There were some slight anomalies however; his pulse was more rapid than he would have expected and he had a rash all over his torso.

'Is the rash itchy?'

'A bit.'

'If it doesn't disappear in forty-eight hours, come and see me.'

Martin looked at Danny thoughtfully,

'Danny, why were you prescribed Prozac?'

'I was feeling depressed.'

'All the time or just some of the time?'

'Some of the time but it was increasing.'

'Were you having suicidal thoughts?'

'No,' said Danny, startled, 'I mean, I had been wondering what my purpose in life is but I know God has a plan for me. I've just got to be patient until he reveals it.'

Martin snorted but kept his thoughts to himself. He might think Danny's beliefs were nonsense but he was sure that Danny was telling the truth. So, if he was only mildly depressed, without any suicidal thoughts, why did his doctor prescribe Prozac?

'Did you see your normal GP?'

'No, he was on holiday. I saw a locum.'

'Didn't he tell you to see your normal GP as soon as possible?'

'No. He just told me to ask for a repeat prescription when I ran out.'

'Incompetent moron!'

'I resent that. I'm not a moron.'

'Not you! Get dressed.'

Martin got off the bed and turned to go. Turning round in the confined space, he knocked Danny's clock off the bedside table. Behind the clock were a medicine bottle and a cardboard carton. Horrified, Martin picked them up and brandished them in Danny's face,

'Have you been taking these too?'

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	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Author's note: I'm not a medical professional so I looked up what I could and made the rest up.

Chapter Seven

Sally Tishell had just dropped off to sleep when the phone rang. Startled awake, she fumbled for the phone, wondering if it was Paul ringing to apologise again,

'Hello,'

''Mrs Tishell, I have a patient who has mixed some medications and I need to know how quickly I can decrease his dosage without causing an increase in his side effects.'

'Yes, Doctor Ellingham. Let me just find a pen and paper. I won't be a moment.'

Sally ran through the kitchen to her small living room and quickly sat down with a sheet of printer paper and a pencil,

'Go ahead, Doctor.'

'Patient is male, forty years old, average build, no known underlying medical conditions. He has taken Prozac, Saint John's Wort, Passionflower and caffeine tablets, all within the last twelve hours.'

'Oh dear. That's a very undesirable combination. What dosages?'

'Prozac, twenty milligrams, twice a day. Saint John's Wort, three hundred milligrams at 0.3% hypericin, three times a day. Passionflower, forty-five drops of liquid extract, once daily. Caffeine tablets, he took one hundred milligrams at approximately seven pm.'

Sally looked at her list grimly,

'I shall have to do some research and get back to you, I'm afraid. Has he taken his Prozac and Saint John's Wort this evening?'

'No.'

'Please stop him from taking it. I'll get back to you as soon as possible, Doctor.'

Martin rang off without saying goodbye but Sally didn't notice. Pausing only to put on her dressing gown and slippers, she got two large reference books from the pharmacy, booted up her computer and started working.

Martin put his phone back in his pocket and returned to the kitchen of Danny's rented cottage. Danny and Louisa were drinking decaffeinated coffee and chatting about old friends. Martin pulled out a chair, sat down and started reviewing what he knew about Danny, which was not much. He was a successful architect so his work life probably included periods of high stress. No obvious indications of money worries. If what he said in the pub could be trusted, then Danny believed his depression was caused by the failure of his relationship with Louisa. He still loved Louisa, which was completely unsurprising, in Martin's opinion. Martin couldn't imagine ever stopping loving Louisa, no matter what happened. Danny's avowal of love merely confirmed what Martin had always suspected; Danny wanted Louisa back. But Louisa didn't want Danny. Astonishingly, miraculously, Louisa loved him, Martin. Martin knew he didn't deserve to be loved but apparently Louisa loved him anyway. Martin longed to sweep Louisa into his arms and tell her how wonderful she was. Unfortunately, he had to stay here and take care of Danny instead.

Suddenly, he realised that there was someone missing,

'Louisa, where's Peter?'

'At home. Cara's babysitting.'

'Cara?'

'Cara Tailor. Lives next door but one. Mrs Tailor's eldest.'

Martin's face cleared as his memory presented him with a picture of a serious looking sixteen year-old,

'Right.'

'In fact, I need to get back. She's got school tomorrow and it's nearly eleven.'

Martin nodded and Danny said,

'Thanks for…well, you know.'

'That's all right. You do what Martin tells you and you'll soon feel better.'

After Louisa had gone, Danny visibly braced himself and asked,

'Will I soon feel better?'

'I think so, yes.'

'You think so?'

'I'm waiting for Mrs Tishell to get back to me concerning the implications of your mix and match approach to medication. And using herbal medicines! Made by charlatans for the gullible. No proper regulation and often no quality control either.'

'Sorry. I just felt so awful. I was too busy to go back to the doctor so I went into the chemist near work and it had a stand of herbal remedies and I asked the girl behind the counter and she said that Saint John's Wort worked for depression and I decided to try it.'

'And the Passionflower and the caffeine tablets?'

'I started having trouble sleeping and I saw an advert in a magazine which said Passionflower would help. The only trouble was that it made me feel really sleepy so I got the caffeine tablets to keep me awake during the day.'

Martin stared at Danny in disbelief. Danny was an educated man but he'd treated medicines like sweets. He was about to let Danny know exactly how many brain cells he thought he had when his medical training kicked in. Danny was not responsible for his recent actions. He'd almost certainly been wrongly prescribed Prozac and it sounded as though he had had side effects from an early stage as well. The brain was still not clearly understood and patients being treated for depression needed careful diagnosis and regular review until a successful regime was established. Martin forced himself to speak quietly and calmly to Danny,

'How long are you staying in Port Wenn?'

'Seven or eight weeks, probably. I thought I could do the outline work for my new project and see Mum and catch up with some friends at the same time.'

'Good. That should give us plenty of time to sort your medication out.'

'You're willing to treat me, then?'

Martin looked blankly at Danny,

'Yes.'

'It's just, I got the impression you don't like me much.'

'What's that got to do with it?'

'You could refuse to treat me, you know?'

'You're ill. I'm a doctor. Why would I refuse to treat you?'

Martin looked at Danny in concern; he was clearly very ill. His suggestion that Martin might refuse him treatment might be a symptom of paranoia. He would have to run a full battery of tests once Danny was off all of his medication.

Martin got Danny to give him the name and address of his GP so he could call him in the morning. He had restrained himself with Danny, he had no intention of doing so with Danny's GP.

Martin was just going to tell Danny to get ready for bed, when the phone rang,

'Ellingham.'

'Doctor Ellingham, Mrs Tishell here.'

'Yes?'

'I'm afraid there's not been much work done on combinations of drugs like that but your patient should be able to stop the Passionflower and the caffeine tablets immediately. Saint John's Wort needs to be discontinued gradually. He should take tonight's dose as usual, then tomorrow take one in the morning and one in the evening. As he's on such a high dose of Prozac, I'd recommend halving it rather than stopping it immediately. He should not take it tonight but take one in the morning. Does he live alone?'

'Yes.'

'Then someone needs to stay with him in case he becomes suicidal.'

Martin stared at the phone in disgust. Rather than going home and holding Louisa in his arms, he was going to spend the night with Danny Steel.

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	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Eight

Louisa paid the babysitter, checked that Peter was sleeping soundly and got ready for bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she wondered whether or not to ring Martin. She wanted to hear his voice but he hated being interrupted when he was with a patient. Sighing, she turned off the light and climbed in to bed.

Martin waited in the bedroom while Danny got ready for bed, trying to decide whether he needed to be in the same room as Danny or just in the house. He was a light sleeper so if he made sure that there were no sharp implements in the bathroom, it should be sufficient for him to be in the house. He could doze on the sofa and check Danny at hourly intervals or more frequently if his symptoms required it.

When Danny came out of the bathroom, Martin said,

'How are you feeling now?'

'A bit better.'

'Lie down.'

Danny lay down on the bed and Martin quickly examined him again. His pulse was closer to normal and he was no longer sweating.

'Was there any pain when you urinated?'

'No.'

'Good. Have your bowels been normal?'

'Slightly loose but I haven't had any diarrhoea or anything like that.'

'Are you moving your bowels more frequently than normal?'

'No.'

'Good. You can sit up.'

'Thank you.'

Martin took out one of the Saint John's Wort tablets and handed it to Danny,

'Take this.'

'I thought I wasn't supposed to take these any more?'

'You'll have to cut them down gradually. Mrs Tishell has looked into the pharmaceutical considerations and you can stop the Passionflower and the caffeine tablets immediately. You'll have to decrease the Prozac and the Saint John's Wort gradually. Initially you will take Saint John's Wort twice a day and Prozac once a day, in the morning. Mrs Tishell will give you a programme for decreasing them. If you have suicidal thoughts you must contact me immediately.'

'Yes, doctor.'

'I will stay with you tonight. Hopefully, by tomorrow you will be feeling a lot better.'

'Stay? But there's only one bedroom and, well, the bed's not very big.'

'I'll sleep downstairs on the sofa.'

'Are you sure it's necessary?'

'Three hours ago you were waving a knife around, threatening to kill yourself, so, yes, it's necessary.'

Danny looked embarrassed,

'Um, sorry about that.'

Martin shrugged,

'You're ill. You're not responsible for your actions.'

'It's good of you to say that.'

'Hmm. Get some sleep.'

Martin picked up all of Danny's medicines and took them with him into the bathroom. Once he'd performed his ablutions, he carefully searched the bathroom for anything that Danny could use to hurt himself. There was a packet of paracetemol but with only three remaining, it was safe to leave them. Danny used an electric razor so there were no razor blades or scissors and a search found nothing else. Satisfied, Martin went downstairs. There were knives in the kitchen but Danny would have to go past him to get to them so Martin left them where they were.

Going back to the lounge, Martin loosened his tie and sat down on the sofa. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and composed himself to sleep.

By the morning, Martin was glad of his years of being on call as a junior doctor. He had woken automatically to check Danny every hour and had managed to go straight back to sleep each time. At five o'clock, Danny had woken and come downstairs. Martin examined him and was satisfied that his physical condition was unchanged. Mentally, Danny seemed to be back to his normal smug and annoying self. He kept trying to engage Martin in small talk. Gritting his teeth, Martin answered in monosyllables and waited for Danny to get bored. Eventually, Danny said,

'What happens now? Do I have to have a minder all the time? Am I allowed to work?'

'You can work if you feel up to it. Have you had any suicidal thoughts today?'

'No. I feel low but a bit better than yesterday.'

'Good. I see no reason why you should have a minder. Just remember to call me if you have any suicidal thoughts.'

'I will.'

'Go and see Mrs Tishell. She'll give you a schedule for decreasing your medication.'

'Okay.'

'Make sure you eat properly and get some exercise. I'll come and see you this evening.'

'Thank you, Martin.'

Martin left Danny making his breakfast and headed home. He let himself in quietly and tiptoed upstairs. Louisa was still asleep and Martin undressed to get into bed alongside her. He stepped towards the bed, tripped and landed across the bed, on top of Louisa. Louisa woke with an alarmed cry, lashed out and hit Martin on the cheek,

'Ow!'

'What? Martin!'

Martin pushed himself off Louisa, sat up and put his hand up to his cheek, saying hastily,

'Sorry. I tripped.'

Louisa sat up in bed and smiled wearily at him,

'It's all right. Did I hurt you?'

Martin felt along his cheekbone cautiously,

'Just a minor contusion. I expect the bruising will go down in a few days.'

Feeling guilty, Louisa leant over and said,

'Would you like me to kiss it better?'

'Why would kissing it make it better? Pressure on the bruise would be painful and would have no positive effect on healing whatsoever. In fact, it might even be detrimental to the healing process.'

Louisa sighed and got out of bed.

'Louisa?'

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	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Nine

Sat on the bed, Martin tried to understand why Louisa had got up and gone downstairs. What he'd said had been completely logical so, obviously, Louisa must be feeling very emotional this morning. He was about to pass it off as hormonal, even though she shouldn't be pre-menstrual at this stage in her cycle, when his medical training supplied him with the answer; Louisa was suffering from stress. After all, she'd been injured when the classroom ceiling had collapsed and several of her pupils had been killed. Martin knew she'd been very upset about that. He'd been alarmed about how much she'd cried until he'd checked with Milligan, who'd explained that it was not unusual. He found it hard to understand how she could love other people's obnoxious, disgusting, germ-ridden children, but she did. Concerned, he put on his dressing gown and slippers and went downstairs.

The kettle was just coming to the boil when Louisa heard Martin coming downstairs. Putting a teabag in a mug, she prepared herself for another barrage of logic. Perhaps one day she'd be able to explain to Martin why logic couldn't apply to everything but so far her attempts to explain had just left him confused and annoyed.

'Louisa, are you feeling all right?'

'Yes, I'm just a bit annoyed.'

'Annoyed? But I was just being logical,' said Martin.

'Yes but it was just a joke, Martin.'

'A joke?'

Martin looked baffled and Louisa realised that somehow everything had got lost in translation again. She tried to explain,

'Yes, offering to kiss you better, like your mother did? It was a joke.'

'My mother never kissed me better.'

The absolute truth of Martin's words hit Louisa with the force of a tornado. He never lied. His mother had never kissed him better.  
The rage coursing through her veins overwhelmed her, leaving her shaking and speechless. She walked over to Martin, put her un-plastered arm around him and held him tightly.

Louisa fidgeted restlessly in her chair. She was allowed to work mornings now and she was supposed to be doing paperwork but what Martin had told her just kept going round and round in her head. She already knew Martin's father had beaten him and that he'd been locked in the cupboard under the stairs as punishment as well. She'd assumed that that had been his father too. She'd thought that Martin's mother had been too scared to do anything about it but was that true? Louisa knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep until she knew. She checked the time before taking out her phone and dialling,

'Joan Norton.'

'Joan, Louisa here. Would you like to come over for lunch?'

'Love to. What time?'

'Well, I finish at one. Shall we say half past one?'

'Half past one. At your place? Or would you like to eat at Bert's? My treat.'

'No, I'd rather you came to me, if that's all right? I need to ask you something.'

Feeling slightly more settled, Louisa forced herself to start reading through the minutes of the latest meeting of the Board of Governors.

Sally Tishell smothered a yawn as she checked another prescription. She had had trouble getting back to sleep after giving Martin the information he needed. The thought of someone giving himself a mixed bag of randomly selected medications without checking with her or Martin made her blood run cold. Martin hadn't told her who it was last night but he'd rung her this morning and she'd been horrified to learn that it was Danny Steel. And then she'd heard from Bert Large about the scene in the pub. Martin might have been killed. She decided to have a word with Danny when he came in; he was old enough to know better.

She was back out in the shop again when her phone rang,

'Pharmacy. Mrs Tishell speaking.'

'Sally. Paul here.'

Sally was aware that she was blushing and was grateful that no locals were in the shop at the moment,

'Hello.'

'Hi. I…um…wanted to apologise for last night again. It won't happen again, I promise.'

Sally quickly stifled a pang of disappointment,

'There's no need. It was my fault too.'

'Well, mostly mine, I think. But, anyway, are we still on for dinner tonight at Bert's.'

'I don't know if that's a good idea.'

'We could bring our laptops; make it a working dinner.'

'Well, all right. What time?'

'Seven o'clock?'

'Seven o'clock at Bert's.'

'Good. See you then.'

'Yes.'

'Well, my next patient's arrived so I'd better go.'

'Right. Bye.'

'Bye.'

Sally Tishell served the two female tourists in front of her, unaware that they'd heard her side of the conversation.

Once outside, the women smiled and one said,

'She's obviously got what it takes. I hope I'm still being asked out on dates at her age.'

Louisa picked up some sandwiches at the shop, knowing that if she didn't, Joan would insist on making lunch for them. Thank goodness her plaster was coming off next week; trying to do things one-handed was driving her nuts.  
When she got home, Tracy, her childminder/home help, was waiting,

'He's been fine. He had his solids half an hour ago and he should be ready for his bottle in a minute.'

'Good.'

'Do you need any help with anything?'

'No, thank you. Why don't you take a couple of hours off? Mrs Norton's coming over and she'll help me, if I need anything.'

'Are you sure?'

'Of course.'

Tracy hurried off and Louisa relaxed. Tracy was wonderful and she and Martin had already decided that they would keep her as Peter's childminder once she was back at work but Louisa hated needing her help with everything else. She had always been independent and she was finding asking for help difficult.

And she certainly didn't want this conversation overheard.

Joan arrived promptly at one thirty and Louisa put the food on plates whilst Joan gave Peter his bottle and put him down for his nap.

Louisa encouraged Joan to fill her in on all the latest news while they ate but eventually, Joan said,

'So, are you going to ask then?'

'What?'

'Whatever it is that you asked me over here for. You aren't that interested in my friends.'

Louisa took a deep breath and said,

'What's Martin's mother like?'

'Margaret? Probably the most unpleasant woman I've ever met. Why?'

'Martin said she never kissed him better when he was a child.'

'No, I don't suppose she ever did. She made no bones about the fact that she never wanted him. I don't know why she didn't have an abortion really.'

'She told people that she didn't want him,' said Louisa, aghast.

'Oh yes, and Marty too.'

'That's terrible!'

'Yes. Margaret is the most selfish person I've ever met. If it doesn't add to her pleasure she doesn't want it and she enjoys being cruel to people. I think Christopher convinced her a baby would be fun. When it turned out to be hard work, she didn't want anything to do with it. She was delighted when Phil and I wanted to adopt Martin. Couldn't sign the form fast enough.'

'You tried to adopt Martin?'

'Yes but Christopher decided it wouldn't look good so he refused to sign the form and a couple of years later he stopped letting Marty come to stay with me in the holidays as well.'

'So his father wanted him?'

Joan paused,

'I don't know. He certainly didn't want to bother with him. Martin was sent to boarding school when he was seven and Christopher certainly never showed him any affection.'

'Did you know that he beat Martin?'

'I suspected it but I could never prove it. He came to us directly from school so he never had bruises then and Christopher was too clever to send him to school with marks on him.'

Louisa swallowed down nausea as the impact of what Joan had said registered. Martin had been abused by both of his parents.

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	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Ten

Martin found himself becoming steadily more annoyed as his morning surgery progressed; everyone had heard about what had happened in the pub the previous evening and they all wanted to discuss it. His protestations of medical confidentiality were ignored and some of his patients were so interested in Danny that he practically had to force them to tell him their own symptoms. In the end, he stormed out into the waiting room and shouted,

'SHUT UP!'

Once everyone was looking at him he said,

'Any of you who have only come to ask me what's wrong with Danny Steel, leave immediately. I will not breach patient confidentiality for a bunch of gossip-mongering imbeciles! Genuine medical problems only.'

Martin returned to his consulting room and slammed the door.

The next three patients were blessedly quiet on the subject of Danny Steel, though Mrs Evans wanted to tell him all about her grandchildren. Having got rid of her by suggesting that she should spend more time exercising and less time talking, Martin was congratulating himself on his strategy when Bert came in,

'Morning, Doc. How's Danny this morning?'

'Bert, are you deaf? Didn't you hear me saying that I can't discuss Danny Steel.'

'I did but I need to know if he's all right.'

'Then ask him,' replied Martin, exasperated.

'Ah, but can I trust what he tells me?'

'What? Why do you need to?'

'Because of the knife, you see.'

'What knife?'

'Danny's hunting knife. The one he was waving around yesterday. The thing is, should I give it back to him?'

Martin thought briefly. There were sharp knives in the kitchen but none as lethal as the hunting knife. Also, holding the knife again might bring back unhappy memories,

'No. Keep it for a few days.'

'Right you are, Doc.'

Bert got up to go.

'Don't you have a medical problem to discuss with me?' said Martin sarcastically.

'Oh yes.'

Bert sat down again.

'Well?' prompted Martin, impatiently.

'Well, I was watching a programme on television the other day and the doctor on it was saying that if you have any blood when you move your bowels, you should go to see your doctor straight away.'

Bert paused and looked at Martin hesitantly. Concerned, Martin said,

'Is the blood fresh?'

'Fresh?'

'Bright red. Or is it darker? Are there any clots?'

'No.'

'Which is it?'

'Neither.'

'What?'

'There isn't any blood. I just wanted to know if that doctor on the television was right.'

'He is. Now stop wasting my time and get out!'

Martin's fury had no noticeable affect on Bert, who ambled gently out and immediately started chatting to Pauline.

Fortunately for Martin's remaining patients, at that moment his phone went,

'Ellingham.'

'Doctor Jeffries here. You left a message that you urgently needed to speak to me.'

'One of your patients has had a psychotic episode.'

'Who?'

'Daniel James Steel, male, aged forty. He saw a locum at your practice five weeks ago.'

'Yes, I was away. We went to New Zealand for a month. Fascinating place. Have you been?'

'Listen, you cretin, in your absence, Danny Steel was prescribed Prozac for what seems to have been mild depression. He was given a three month supply and not instructed to come for a review. So stop blathering on about your self-indulgent leisure activities and read me his notes.'

'Prozac? For mild depression?'

'Apparently but, since Danny is mentally ill, I don't know if I can trust what he's told me.'

'Here it is. Twenty-eighth September…Anxiety, bouts of depression, attributed to failed relationship…Prozac prescribed. No explanation of why Prozac was chosen.'

Doctor Jeffries sounded baffled. Martin was furious,

'Prozac was chosen because the man is an idiot. Didn't you check that the man was at least marginally competent before flying off into the sunset? And why wasn't the incorrect diagnosis picked up when you came back?'

'What?'

'Surely you check all the diagnoses made in your absence?'

'No. Why would I do that?'

'To provide adequate care for your patients. Or are you just interested in the money and just do enough to keep the fatalities to an acceptable level?'

'No, I do not! The locum we used was recommended by the PCT. There was no reason to check up on him.'

'I disagree. Your blasé attitude has put Danny Steel's life at risk. How many other incorrect diagnoses were made whilst you were away?'

'I…I'll start checking.'

'Good!'

Martin slammed the phone down, feeling outraged. How could Jeffries provide continuity of care if he didn't find out what had happened whilst he was away. He would have to make sure that Danny changed his GP when he went back to London.

Danny was feeling a lot better. He had managed to do two and a half hours work on his new project and had arranged to meet an old school friend for lunch. He strolled towards the harbour, enjoying the Autumn sunshine. Passing the small supermarket, he paused outside the pharmacy, waiting until it was empty before going in.

As soon as she saw him, Mrs Tishell darted forward and locked the door, flipping the sign over to 'Closed'.

'Hello, Mrs Tishell,' said Danny, slightly startled.

'Doctor Ellingham told me you would come and I thought you'd prefer not to be interrupted whilst we discussed things.'

'Uh, no.'

'Come and sit down.'

Danny followed Mrs Tishell behind the counter and sat on one of the stools. Mrs Tishell sat down and looked at him intently,

'How are you feeling?'

'A lot better, thank you.'

'Good. I've put together a schedule for you. Doctor Ellingham wants you off both the Saint John's Wort and the Prozac as soon as possible but it's important that you tell one of us if you start feeling worse.'

Danny took the sheet of paper that she handed him, feeling embarrassed. Mrs Tishell continued,

'You mustn't take any other medication without checking with me first.'

'Can I take paracetemol?'

'Yes, but let Doctor Ellingham know if you find you're taking them every day.'

'Yes, Mrs Tishell.'

Mrs Tishell hesitated but decided to take the bull by the horn,

'Why didn't you check with someone before taking all those medicines?'

'I didn't have time to go back to the doctor and there wasn't anyone else.'

'But why didn't you call Doctor Ellingham?

'Call Martin? When he'd ended up with the woman I love?'

'I understand,' said Mrs Tishell, sympathetically, 'but you can always call me you know. I'd be happy to give you advice over the phone.'

'That's really kind. I..I…didn't think anyone in Port Wenn cared what happened to me.'

'You poor boy,' said Mrs Tishell, putting an arm around his shoulder.

Danny smiled wryly, thinking that it was a long time since he'd been a boy. Grateful for Mrs Tishell's kindness, Danny put his arms around her and returned the hug.

It was at that moment that Paul Milligan looked through the door.

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	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Eleven

Paul saw red as he watched another man hold Sally. Unable to stop himself, he banged furiously on the door. Sally pushed the man gently away and came towards the door, looking irritated. When she saw who it was her expression lightened and she unlocked the door,

'Doctor Milligan, how lovely to see you. I was just explaining to Danny that he needs to check with me before mixing medications.'

The red mist receded as his medical training kicked in; was this the Danny that his patients had been telling him about all morning? The man who'd 'gone Bodmin' in the pub and nearly killed Martin.

'You should never mix medications without taking advice from a properly qualified medical professional,' said Paul automatically.

'I know. I…um…don't know how I came to do something like that. And the way I behaved last night…I suppose the whole village is talking about me?'

'I'm afraid so,' replied Paul, trying to sound sympathetic but aware that he was failing.

'Don't you worry about that. You just need to concentrate on getting better,' said Sally.

'But I made such a fool of myself.'

Danny smiled ruefully and Paul found himself warming to him slightly until Sally said,

'We all make fools of ourselves sometimes. Now off you go, and remember you can ring me any time.'

Danny left and Sally closed the door behind him saying,

'Poor boy.'

'He's not a boy. He's older than I am,' said Paul harshly.

'Well he seems like a boy to me. Not in how he looks but the way he behaves.'

Paul opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of Danny's behaviour but, fortunately, his brain went into overdrive, reminding him of all the people he'd counselled who'd had massive problems because they couldn't control what they said in anger. He took a couple of deep breaths before saying,

'Sally, you need to be careful about letting Danny get too attached to you.'

'What do you mean?'

'If he thinks you care for him and then you reject him, he may react very badly.'

'He couldn't think I care him just because I felt sorry for him, surely?'

Inside Paul's brain flowers were blooming and triumphant choirs were singing. She felt sorry for him! Somehow, he stopped himself from laughing happily. Instead he said,

'Hopefully not but I'd feel happier if you made sure that you're not alone with him. Just until Martin's got his medication sorted out.'

'Do you really think so? Surely there's no need?'

'I'm probably over-reacting,' admitted Paul, ruefully.

Sally smiled as warmth spread through her at his words,

'It's sweet of you to care but I can take care of myself you know.'

Something inside Paul rebelled at Sally's words. Years of being told he was sweet and adorable propelled him into speech,

'I wasn't being sweet; I'm jealous.'

'Jealous? But…'

'I know I have no right but when I saw you hugging Danny, I wanted to kill him.'

'Kill him? Oh, no,' said Sally faintly.

'Don't worry, I won't. And I won't do anything you don't want me too either. You're married and I respect that. I won't touch you unless you ask me too but if you do decide you want me to touch you, make sure we're somewhere private because I won't stop until I've touched every single inch of you.'

Paul turned and strode out of the pharmacy, leaving Sally staring after him, stunned.

Paul rushed up the hill, ignoring greetings from the villagers as he played back his words in his head. Castigating himself for his stupidity and insensitivity, he rushed into the surgery and ran upstairs. He was hoping for a few minutes peace and quiet, but waiting outside his consulting room was Louisa Glasson. One glance at her face told him that his peace and quiet would have to wait,

'Louisa, come in.'

'Thank you.'

Once they had both sat down, Paul waited for Louisa to start,

'I know I haven't got an appointment but I need your opinion on something. Your professional opinion.'

'Yes?' said Paul, intrigued.

'I've found out some things about Martin's childhood today and I don't know what to do. Whether I should tell him I know or whether I should just wait for them to crop up naturally.'

'What did you find out?'

Louisa hesitated so Paul said,

'Whatever you say to me is in confidence.'

Louisa took a deep breath and said,

'Martin was abused by both his parents and probably neglected to.'

'Are you sure.'

'I think so. Martin told me that his father beat him with a table tennis bat and his belt and that he was locked in the cupboard under the stairs. I assumed that it was his father doing that too but this morning he told me that his mother never kissed him better when he was a child. So, I asked Joan Norton, she's Martin's aunt, what Martin's mother was like. She said that she never wanted Martin and tried to get rid of him as much as she could. She used to tell Martin to his face that she didn't want him.'

'So you think she was the one who locked him under the stairs?'

'I don't know but I think she may have been.'

'And you're wondering whether or not to discuss it with Martin?'

'Yes.'

'Do you think discussing it will help Martin?'

'Well, that's what I want to know. With abused children you set up a safe environment and encourage them to talk about it but do you use the same techniques with an adult? And how could I get Martin to talk about anyway?'

'Techniques for adults tend to be different because the trauma has often been deeply buried. When Martin told you about being beaten and locked in the cupboard, was he emotional about it?'

'No, he was completely matter of fact. He acted as if was completely normal.'

'To him it probably was,' said Paul, sombrely.

'I know,' whispered Louisa, 'and that's the worst thing about it. He told me his father beat him whenever he thought he deserved it.'

'And Martin probably believes to this day that it was his fault, that he got what he deserved. His parents will have convinced him of that.'

Louisa put her head in her hands and Paul passed Louisa a tissue, thinking she was about to cry, but when she looked up at him, her eyes were full of rage,

'Is it wrong of me to want to kill them?'

'No, it makes me angry too. However, going to jail for killing his parents wouldn't help Martin.'

'I suppose not,' said Louisa, wistfully, 'So, what should I do?'

'I'm not sure. Let me think about it but for now the best thing you can do is let Martin know that you love him.'

'You don't think I should ask him about his childhood?'

'I suspect that he'll just clam up if you do.'

'I think you're right,' said Louisa, resignedly, 'Thank you for your advice.'

'You're welcome.'

Once Louisa had left, Paul tilted his chair back and stared at the ceiling. He now understood why Martin was so damaged. After being abused by both parents it was a miracle that he was able to function properly as an adult at all. Looking at the pristine white paint, Paul vowed that he would do anything he could to help Martin recover. If, that was, he could find a way to get Martin to talk to him.

Louisa returned home to find Joan playing with Peter,

'All right?' asked Joan.

'Yes, I think so. Joan, would you be willing to have Peter tonight?'

'Yes, of course. Are you going to drag that nephew of mine out on the town?'

'No, I was thinking that we could get an early night, actually.'

Joan smiled knowingly and Louisa blushed, feeling like a teenager again.

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	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Twelve

Sally Tishell spent the rest of the day operating on autopilot; filling prescriptions and helping people choose medicines and toiletries automatically. Behind her polite smile her mind was whirling. Paul's declaration had completely surprised her and she had no idea what to do. Paul had said he was jealous but what did that mean? Was he in love with her or just infatuated? And even if he was in love with her, did it matter? She was married and although she'd been tempted a couple of times, she'd never been unfaithful to Clive. Yes, she'd kissed Martin and now Paul but those had been spur of the moment things and neither had gone anywhere. And what about Clive? She was fond of him but did she love him? And was she in love with him? He loved her, she knew, and for a long time, that had been enough.  
But then Martin had come along and Sally knew that, in the heat of her infatuation, she would have had an affair with him if he'd wanted one. She still found Martin extremely attractive but she'd come to accept that he'd never see her as anything other than a professional colleague.  
When she'd met Paul she'd felt an immediate rapport and she found the time they spent working together immensely rewarding. Their areas of expertise complemented each other and Sally knew that the paper they were putting together on the new drug was going to be very good. The body chemistry between them just added an innocent buzz to their work, she'd thought. But was it just friendship she felt towards him or was it something more?

Biting back a sigh, Sally decided that she didn't know how she felt about any of them. Martin still made her behave like a flustered teenager, blushing and talking nonsense because her pulse was racing so hard. Clive made her feel a mixture of gentle affection and exasperation and the lust she'd once felt for him had faded to a dim memory. And Paul made her feel like an intelligent and attractive woman and she felt happy in his company but what did that mean?  
Smiling vaguely at some departing tourists, Sally decided that the only thing to do was to wait and hope that things would become clearer in time.

When Martin got home after his afternoon surgery he was surprised to find his aunt there,

'Hello, Marty.'

'Hello, Aunty Joan. What are you doing here?'

'Louisa has asked me to look after Peter tonight.'

'Is that a good idea? At your age, uninterrupted sleep is essential to prevent further decline in your mental faculties.'

'My mental faculties are fine, thank you _very_ much. Louisa asked me to have Peter so you two can have some time alone.'

'Alone?'

'Yes, Martin, alone. Sometimes, Martin, I can't for the life of me imagine why she puts up with you but the fact is, she does, so for goodness sake put some effort in!'

'What?'

Joan looked at Martin's baffled expression in exasperation; how could someone so intelligent be so dim?

'I mean, make her feel appreciated. Tell her how you feel about her.'

'Ah, well, um…'

'Just do it, Martin!'

'What's Martin supposed to do?' asked Louisa, coming in to the lounge.

'Use his brains for once,' said Joan brusquely.

Louisa looked questioningly at Martin but he just looked embarrassed, so she decided to ask Joan about it tomorrow. Louisa passed Peter's nappy bag to Joan, who said,

'Is that the lot? I'll be off then. Martin, help me put Peter into the car.'

Martin picked Peter up and carried him out to the car. As he put Peter into his car seat, Joan said,

'Think about what I said.'

Martin nodded curtly, annoyed by her interference. As he walked into the house, he realised that he still had one patient to talk to; Danny hadn't come into the surgery. Irritated, Martin dialled Danny's number,

'Danny Steel.'

'Doctor Ellingham here. You were supposed to come and see me this afternoon.'

'Is it six already? Sorry Martin, I went for lunch with Mark and Sarah and we've been chatting ever since.'

'It's important that I see you.'

'Okay. Why don't I pop over in a couple of hours?'

'No. I'll come and see you. Where are you now?'

'I'm at Mark and Sarah's. You know? On Church Hill.'

'Mark and Sarah Carter?'

'Yes, that's right.'

Martin hung up and went inside. He picked up his medical bag, saying,

'I've just got one call to make.'

Martin walked briskly through the town, reaching the Carter's house in less than five minutes. Mark Carter opened the door and Martin said,

'I've come to see Danny Steel.'

'Of course, Doc. He's in the lounge.'

Mark led Martin through to the lounge,

'Here you are, Doc. Sarah and I will wait in the kitchen.'

Mark and Sarah left and Martin sat in a chair opposite Danny,

'How are you feeling?'

'A bit odd still but much better than yesterday.'

'A bit odd, how?'

'As if I'm not really here, if that makes any sense?'

'Hmmm. Any dizziness? Nausea?'

'No.'

'Headache?'

'A very slight one earlier but I took a paracetemol and that took care of it. Mrs Tishell said it was all right to take paracetemol as long as I wasn't taking them every day.'

'Let me know if you keep getting headaches. Did you pick up the medication reduction schedule from Mrs Tishell?'

'Yes. She told me to call her before taking any other medication.'

'Have you eaten today?'

'Yes, breakfast and lunch and Sarah and Mark have invited me to stay for supper.'

'Good. How has your mood been?'

'A bit up and down but I haven't had any suicidal thoughts.'

'Keep to the schedule Mrs Tishell gave you, make sure you eat properly and call Pauline in the morning to make an appointment for the day after tomorrow.'

'The day after tomorrow's Sunday. Don't you mean Monday?'

'No.'

Danny looked puzzled but Martin left without explaining. He saw no reason to explain to Danny that he was doing a brief surgery on Sunday's to keep up with all the extra work caused by the tragedy at the school. Chris Parsons had suggested using a locum to help take up the slack but since Martin would have to check all their diagnoses anyway, he didn't see how that would help.

Martin hurried home, eager to spend the evening with Louisa. On the way, he thought about what Aunty Joan had said. He wished he could just tell Louisa how he felt but whenever he opened his mouth to say something romantic, his brain seized and he ended up saying something stupid instead. But Aunty Joan was right; Louisa deserved to know that he appreciated her.

Louisa was sat in the kitchen when Martin came in,

'Everything all right, Martin?'

'Yes…um…I need to say something to you.'

'Yes?'

'Um…I don't know if you're aware of it but you possess many desirable qualities. You're above average intelligence although you don't always think logically. Your appearance is always acceptable. You're a caring person, which is good although you are very emotional but that isn't your fault; women's hormonal fluctuations make emotional control much harder for them, particularly at certain times in their cycle…'

'Martin, shut up!'

'What?'

'Martin what are you trying to do? Are you breaking up with me?'

Martin stared at Louisa, aghast,

'NO! No, I…I never want to break up with you. I can't imagine life without you. I was trying to appreciate you.'

'Appreciate me?'

'Yes, Aunty Joan told me I needed to make you feel appreciated.'

'And you thought that was the right way to do it?'

'I thought listing your good points would be a good way to do it, yes,' said Martin defensively, aware that he'd somehow managed to get it wrong again.

Louisa took a deep breath and wondered how to explain how completely wrong he had been. In the end she just said,

'It didn't really work. I think I'd rather you told me that you love me; that's what's important.'

'Right. Um…I…uh…do.'

Louisa smiled; only Martin could tell her that he couldn't imagine life without her one minute and then blush when telling her he loved her.

'Why don't we have some supper and after we've cleared up, we could have an early night.'

'If you're tired I could sleep in the spare room.'

Louisa resisted the temptation to throw something at him,

'It will be difficult for us to make love if you're in the other room.'

'Oh, right. Yes it would be.'

After a quick supper and rapid tidy up, they went upstairs and Martin helped Louisa get ready for bed before undressing himself. He reluctantly left his phone on but for once, they were not interrupted.

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	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Thirteen

Sally had considered cancelling her dinner with Paul but in the end had decided that she needed to talk to Paul and that a public venue might be better than her kitchen. So, promptly at seven, she walked down the steps of Bert's restaurant.

Paul had been so nervous that he'd arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes early. He hadn't dared to ring Sally to remind her that they were supposed to eat at Bert's tonight. After blurting out his feelings and leaving, Paul knew that he had no right to expect Sally to turn up. When she did come down the steps, he was so relieved that for a moment he thought that he was going to throw up. Standing, he said,

'Sally, I've got us a table in the shelter. I thought it was a bit cold to be outside.'

'Yes, it is,' agreed Sally following Paul.

Bert had realised that people wouldn't want to eat outside in Cornwall in the Autumn and Winter, so he and Al had constructed a shelter on the terrace. They had made a large shed-like structure out of wood and plastic and put two patio heaters inside it. The shelter was warm but had a tendency to rock alarmingly when it was windy. Paul and Sally sat down at one of the tables and Bert bustled over with two menus,

'Good evening, Doc, Sally. Our specials tonight are leek and potato soup and fish pie with fresh vegetables. Would you like something to drink?'

'Do you want to share a bottle of wine?' asked Paul.

'I don't know; I don't want to get drunk.'

'We don't have to finish the bottle.'

'Well, all right.'

'Red or white?'

'White, please.'

'A bottle of Chardonnay, please, Bert.'

'Coming right up, Doc.'

Bert ambled off and Paul said,

'What do you recommend to eat?'

'Well, the crab salad's very good and the smoked mackerel.'

'I love crab but it's a bit cold for salad. What about the fish pie?'

'I've never had it but Bert's chef is usually very good with fish.'

'I think I'll try it. What do you fancy?'

'I think I'll try the fish pie too. Are we having starters?'

'Do you want one?'

'Bert's always very generous with his portions sizes so I think I don't think I'll have room.'

'We can always have desert, if we're still hungry.'

Sally looked surprised so Paul continued,

'An occasional desert doesn't do any harm. It's the large amounts of sugar that so many people have in their daily diet that's dangerous.'

'Yes. I see it in my pharmacy; more and more people with diabetes.'

'Yes and yet the government won't take any action. Advertisers are allowed to push high sugar products on us at every turn without any warning labels or health advice.'

'It's terrible and so many people just don't understand.'

'How can they? For years they've been told that fat is the enemy and that things like cereal bars are healthy when, in fact, some cereal bars are incredibly high in sugar and they'd be better off having a handful of raw nuts.'

'It's shocking really.'

'What is?' asked Bert, putting a bottle of wine on the table.

'How many people don't understand how bad sugar is for you,' explained Sally.

'Well, I reckon a little of what you fancy does you good. That's what my gran always said and she lived to eighty-seven,' said Bert.

'Yes but in her day people only had a small amount of sugar in their diet. Nowadays, with all the snacks and processed foods that people eat, people often have a lot more sugar than they realise,' explained Paul.

'So, we should stick to home made foods then?' asked Bert.

'Yes,' said Paul.

Bert looked pleased and Sally felt a slight twinge of concern,

'But you should always do what Doctor Ellingham tells you,' she said.

Bert looked disappointed and wandered back to the kitchen without taking their order.

Paul took out his laptop and booted it up, saying,

'I've received some new data on absorption and excretion rates, which I'd value your opinion on.'

Sally leant over the laptop and soon they were deep in discussion.

Half an hour later, Bert remembered to come over and take their order and about twenty minutes after that, their food was on the table.  
For a few minutes, they continued to talk about the paper they were writing but then an awkward silence fell. Paul looked across at Sally, who was staring at her plate, toying with her food, and decided to take the bull by its horns,

'I meant what I said earlier but I shouldn't have said anything. My emotions are not your problem. Please ignore it.'

'That's easier said than done,' said Sally, tartly.

'I know but I don't want you to think that I expect you to do or say anything.'

Sally smiled inwardly. It was all very well to say that she didn't need to do or say anything, but how do you ignore a passionate declaration of love? Outwardly, she just said,

'All right.'

Paul relaxed and turned the discussion to a proposed new drug for multiple personality disorder. As usual, the drug company were claiming a break through but there seemed to have been an abnormally large number of allergic reactions and Paul wanted Sally's opinion, as a pharmacist.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, discussing medical problems and exchanging childhood reminisces and before they realised it, it was ten o'clock and they were toying with slices of chocolate gateau, whilst Bert and Al cleaned up around them.

Bert was about to put their bill on the table with a meaningful cough, when he heard footsteps running along the street. There was a momentary pause and then someone was running down the steps into the restaurant. A few seconds later, the door flew open and Chelsey came running in, wearing pyjamas and slippers, with tears streaming down her face.

As Sally, Paul, Al and Bert looked at her in horror, Chelsey stared desperately around and then threw herself into Bert's arms.

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	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Fourteen

Bert caught Chelsey automatically, settling her on his hip as if she was a toddler. She buried her head in his shoulder and Bert patted her back soothingly, saying,

'There, there. What's the matter? You tell Bert what's wrong.'

Chelsey whispered something and Bert bent his head to listen and then winced as his back protested,

'Hang on a minute. Let's get comfy and then you can tell me all about it.'

Bert sat down on the nearest chair, pulling Chelsey on to his lap. As he did, he realised that Chelsey was shivering. Touching her hand and finding it icy, he said,

'You're frozen! Al, fetch my spare jumper from the kitchen.'

Al went into the kitchen and got Bert's spare tank top and Bert slipped it over Chelsey's head. It was huge on her, covering her from shoulder to knee but it was warm and Chelsey snuggled gratefully into its warmth. Seeing Chelsey sniffing, Sally passed her a tissue. Chelsey wiped her eyes and blew her nose, curling up gratefully in Bert's lap. After a couple of minutes, Bert said,

'What happened?'

'I was asleep and I had a nightmare. I dreamt that I was back…there…you know…under the rubble again…alone with Jack and Laura and Miss Glasson… only this time Miss Glasson really was dead…and…and when I woke up it was dark and when I called nobody came…and…and…I thought it was real. I was so scared…And then I was in the middle of the street and I didn't know how I got there.'

'Well, not to worry, you're safe now,' said Bert, looking helplessly across at Paul.

'The important thing is that you're not hurt and you know it was only a nightmare, don't you?' said Paul.

'Yes,' said Chelsey, doubtfully, 'but why didn't Dad or Emily come when I called?'

'Something must've cropped up,' said Bert, 'Why don't I get Al to give your Dad a ring and find out what's what?'

As he said it, Bert nodded to Al, who disappeared into the kitchen. Bert calmly sat and waited and Chelsey relaxed, comforted by the sense of safety his size and gentleness gave her.  
A couple of minutes later, Al came out,

'The lights fused so your Dad and Emily went down the cellar to fix it. That's why no one heard you. And why it was dark.'

'So they didn't leave me?'

'Course not. Your Dad would never do that.'

'No, Mum would kill him.'

Bert smiled and Chelsey smiled back, releasing her hold on him and sitting up. Encouraged, Bert said,

'Mum at work tonight?'

'Yes, she's on nights all week.'

Chelsey shivered again and Bert said,

'Why don't I get you some hot chocolate?'

'Yes, please.'

Chelsey slipped off Bert's lap and stood, hesitantly looking over at Paul and Sally. Sally immediately said,

'Why don't you sit on my lap? You could have my coat on your lap to warm you up.'

Chelsey nodded and when her father and sister arrived, she was sat happily on Sally's lap, sipping hot chocolate.

'Chelsey, what happened?' asked Emily.

'I had a nightmare and when I woke it was dark so I thought it was real.'

'Why didn't you call us?'

'I did!'

'Well, I didn't hear you.'

'But weren't you in the cellar?' intervened Bert, hastily.

'Yes, Dad needed me to hold the torch so he could change the fuse.'

'Most likely you wouldn't have heard Chelsey then. Sound don't travel well through those old walls.'

'True,' said Emily, mollified.

Ian Baker stepped forward and took Chelsey from Sally's lap, standing her on the floor. Putting his hands gently on her shoulders and looking her in the eye, he said,

'Your Mum and I would never leave you alone. You know that.'

'I was just so scared when I woke up and it was dark.'

Ian Baker nodded and picked her up, holding her as easily as if she were a tiny baby. He turned to Bert, saying,

'Thank you.'

'It's no problem at all. It took me back to when Al was a nipper. If ever he had cheese for supper, he used to have the most terrible nightmares. Took the missus and I ages to figure it out. Went to the doc in the end. Doctor Sims, of course, not Doc Martin. Anyway, he made us write a food diary and there it was, clear as day, whenever Al had cheese on toast he had nightmares.'

Ian Baker gave Bert a slightly puzzled look but didn't say anything, knowing that his rambling was virtually random. As Ian turned to go, he noticed that Chelsey was wearing one of Bert's tank tops,

'Give Mr Large his top back, Chelsey.'

Chelsey started to wriggle out of it but Bert said,

'No need, it's my spare.'

'Are you sure?' asked Ian.

'Yes, she can bring it back tomorrow; it's bitter out.'

Ian nodded and gave Chelsey a discreet nudge,

'Thank you for lending me your jumper and for the hot chocolate, Mr Large.'

'That's all right, sweetheart. You can come and have hot chocolate anytime. And Emily too.'

Chelsey beamed and Emily looked pleased.

After the Baker's had gone, Paul paid the bill and he and Sally left the restaurant. Sally refused to let Paul walk her home so they said goodbye at the top of the stairs. Paul was relieved to see that the earlier constraint had vanished and that Sally was treating him like a friend again.

The next day Chelsey told all her friends how kind Mr Large and Mrs Tishell and Doctor Milligan had been and Bert told all of his friends about the fright that Chelsey had had and how glad he'd been to have back up from Sally and Paul. By the end of the day, everyone in Port Wenn knew that Sally and Paul had had dinner together and someone had decided that something should be done about it.

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	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Fifteen

The next day was Saturday, which meant that Martin's surgery didn't start until ten so he was able to spend some time in bed awake, watching Louisa sleep. Even tired and ill she looked beautiful and lying in bed, dishevelled and snoring, she looked amazing, sensual and alluring. His libido suggested that he should wake her up but a glance at the clock showed that it was only five minutes until he needed to get up, so Martin regretfully ignored his body's prompting.  
Remembering his disastrous attempt to creep around the day before, Martin decided to act normally. At first, this was very successful, as Louisa slept through him getting new clothes out and taking a shower. However, he was so pleased with himself that he forgot to look where he was going and tripped on the uneven flagstone by the door, fell forwards and slammed into the door.

'Martin?' said Louisa, sleepily.

'Sorry,' said Martin, getting up off the floor, 'I tripped.'

'Are you all right?'

'Yes, I'm fine,' said Martin, ignoring the bruises already starting to form on his knees.

'What time is it?'

'Eight fifty-seven.'

'I should get up. Joan's bringing Peter back at ten.'

Martin went downstairs and made breakfast: boiled eggs, wholemeal toast, fruit and tea. Since Louisa's arm was still undergoing repair, he boiled two eggs for her. He also put her iron supplement beside her plate. Whilst he was not keen on supplements, Louisa's iron levels had been very low following the accident at the school, so he had allowed her GP to prescribe iron tablets for her temporarily.  
Louisa came downstairs and they ate breakfast in silence. Martin washed up the dishes and finished getting ready for work. At a quarter to ten he went upstairs to say goodbye and found Louisa struggling to get her jumper on over her cast. They had bought some oversized jumpers with very loose arms for her but even so, some of them were a bit tight. Martin tugged the sleeve firmly and heard a slight tearing sound. Embarrassed, he looked and discovered that he'd pulled the sleeve apart at the seam,

'Damn! Sorry, I've ripped it.'

'It doesn't matter. At least it goes on now.'

Martin looked closely at her but she didn't seem to be angry. Looking at his watch, he said,

'I've got to go.'

He hesitated, wondering whether or not to kiss her but Louisa pulled his head down so she could kiss him.

Martin strode through the village feeling strangely content. Louisa was still with him and they'd managed to get through a whole day without an argument, well twelve hours anyway. His patients were unbelievably moronic, of course, but most of them had been born that way so it wasn't their fault.  
His mood of wellbeing lasted until he was almost at the surgery. Coming down the hill were the gaggle of teenage girls, including Becky, who'd been injured by Mrs Harris. Stopping abruptly, he said,

'You, Becky, how are you feeling?'

'All right.'

'No dizziness or nausea?'

'No.'

'Headache?'

'Not any more.'

'Any visual disturbances? Blurred or double vision or spots before the eyes?'

'No.'

'Stiff neck?'

'No.'

'Good. Come and see me if you get any symptoms.'

'Yes, doctor.'

He'd started to walk on when one of the girls said,

'Why d'you get Mrs Norton to have Peter last night? Needed Miss Glasson to give you some help with a problem?'

'I heard it's a big problem.'

'Super-sized, is what I heard.'

Blushing, Martin started walking up the hill but the girls carried on speculating loudly, giggling all the time,

'So, is it true what they say about shoe size, Doc?'

'Maybe you could do a survey?'

'And publish it, so we'd all know who else had a big problem.'

With a sigh of relief, Martin went into the surgery and closed the door behind him. In the waiting room, Pauline was asleep at the desk, her head cradled on her hands,

'WAKE UP!' shouted Martin.

Pauline opened an eye and said,

'No need to shout. I'm awake.'

Martin watched in disbelief as her eye closed and she drifted off to sleep again. He was about to shout at her again when he remembered that he'd never got to the bottom of her insomnia. Her bloods had all been normal but he'd never carried out a full physical examination. Looking round, he saw that only Mrs Carter was waiting. Picking up her notes from the desk, he said,

'Come through.'

Mrs Carter came in and sat down. Martin immediately noticed that she was wheezing badly. Martin quickly checked the last entry on her notes to confirm that her last visit had been for antibiotics for an abscess on her leg. Looking back confirmed that she was a non-smoker with no history of asthma,

'What seems to be the problem?'

'I've got a terrible cough and I just can't seem to get my breath, doctor.'

'How long have you had a cough for?'

'About four days.'

'Lift up your top, please.'

Mrs Carter lifted her top and Martin listened to her heart and lungs. Her heartbeat was rapid but regular and one of her lungs was fine. The other, however, seemed to be full of fluid. With deliberate haste, Martin attached the blood pressure cuff to Mrs Carter's arm and inflated it. Mrs Carter tried to speak but began to cough. Martin released the air from the cuff and waited for her paroxysms to stop. By the time she had stopped coughing, Martin had decided to forgo checking her blood pressure,

'Mrs Carter, you've got pneumonia. I want you to go to hospital.'

'I can't go to hospital; I'm much too busy. I'm meant to be babysitting for my Karen tonight. Surely you can just give me some antibiotics.'

'Mrs Carter, you are diabetic and you have pneumonia. If you don't go to hospital you may die.'

'Are you sure it's pneumonia?'

'Yes, you stupid woman, it's definitely pneumonia.'

'I am not a stupid woman.'

'Then stop behaving like one!'

'And I definitely have to go to hospital?'

'No, you can stay here and die instead.'

Mrs Carter stared at Martin in resentful silence. Martin took her silence for the capitulation it was and shouted,

'Pauline!'

There was no reply so Martin took out his phone and dialled 999,

'This is Doctor Ellingham, Port Wenn Surgery. I need an ambulance for an elderly diabetic female with pneumonia.'

Having confirmed that an ambulance was being dispatched immediately, Martin hung up and said,

'If you would wait in the Waiting Room. The ambulance will be about half an hour.'

Grumbling under her breath, Mrs Carter let Martin show her out of the consulting room. The waiting room was completely empty.

'Pauline! PAULINE!'

Martin's shouts produced Paul Milligan from upstairs but there was no sign of Pauline. Baffled, Martin checked the rest of the surgery and was shocked to find her lying on the kitchen floor. He was about to shake her awake when he saw the blood on the floor.

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	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Sixteen

Martin hurriedly knelt down next to Pauline and bent over her. Her pulse was strong and he could hear her breathing. The smell of blood was making his gorge rise but Martin forced himself to look more closely, in case she had nicked an artery. There was a small smear of blood near her hand and when he looked he could see a cut on the palm of her hand, bleeding sluggishly. Painful and it would need careful cleaning but it could be ignored for now. There was more blood by Pauline's head and Martin could see a cut on Pauline's forehead. It was bleeding copiously and Martin got to his feet, intending to fetch his bag from the consulting room. As he stood up he lost the battle with his stomach and threw up into the sink. The sound brought Paul Milligan into the room,

'Martin, are you…is Pauline all right?'

'Get my bag.'

'What?'

'My bag, from the consulting room. I need to staunch the wound.'

Paul hurried off and by the time Martin had regained control of his stomach, he was back with Martin's bag. Martin grabbed the bag, took out a wad of gauze, knelt down and gently pressed it against Pauline's head, saying,

'Call another ambulance and then go and sit with Mrs Carter.'

'Right.'

Paul pulled out his phone and dialled 999. It took him some time to convince the ambulance service that they really did have two emergencies at the surgery at the same time and by the time that he had finished he could understand why Martin got so annoyed sometimes. Looking at Mrs Carter, he found himself wishing that her ambulance would hurry; it was a long time since he'd done any general medicine but it was quite clear that she was very unwell.

A few minutes later, the Baker's came in to the waiting room. Paul was pleased to see that Chelsey looked well rested, a far cry from the terrified child who'd run into Bert's restaurant the previous night,

'Morning, Doc. Where's Pauline?' said Ian Baker.

'She's fallen and hurt herself. Doctor Ellingham's giving her first aid in the kitchen.'

'I'll see if he needs a hand,' said Ian Baker, starting towards the kitchen, 'You two stay here.'

Martin heard someone come into the kitchen and seeing working boots, said,

'Get out! Can't you see I'm treating a patient?'

'I thought you might need a hand, Doc.'

'No, just go away,' said Martin, exasperated.

Unperturbed, Ian Baker returned to the waiting room. Chelsey and Emily looked expectantly at him and he said,

'He don't want no help but I reckon he needs some. Does Mrs Carter need a lift home, doctor?'

'No, she's waiting for an ambulance.'

'Doc Martin says I've got pneumonia and I've got to go to hospital,' said Mrs Carter, crossly.

Ian nodded, 'You do look a bit poorly. I'll go outside and wait for the ambulance. Emily, you answer the phone if it goes. Chelsey, you fetch anything that Doc Martin or Doctor Milligan need.'

Emily sat behind Pauline's desk and looked at the appointments diary rather nervously whilst Chelsey looked expectantly at Doctor Milligan. Paul tried to think of something useful for her to do,

'Chelsey, could you fetch my glass of water please. It's upstairs, on my desk.'

Chelsey beamed and hurried off.

A few minutes later, the first ambulance arrived and Mrs Carter reluctantly allowed herself to be put in it. She had just been driven off, when the second ambulance arrived and Ian directed the paramedics into the kitchen. They put a neck brace around Pauline's neck and then lifted her on to the stretcher. Ignoring Martin's advice and instructions, they competently transferred her to the ambulance and sped off. Martin looked down at his blood stained jacket sleeve in disgust. Yet another item for dry-cleaning. Still feeling nauseous, he went back into the kitchen and started cleaning up. Beneath the kitchen table, he found the remains of a mug and one of the kitchen cupboard handles, below the kettle, was covered in blood. Pauline had obviously tripped whilst making herself a mug of tea.

Remembering Pauline's insomnia, Martin decided to talk to Milligan about her.

In the waiting room, Paul was chatting to Ian, Chelsey and Emily whilst waiting for his next patient. In theory, Chelsey should have been having a counselling session with both himself and Martin, but that would have to be postponed. In the meantime, he found himself talking about maths,

'Was Miss Glasson angry?' he asked.

'No, though she made me promise not to do it again.'

'Good. So are you going to have special lessons?'

'Yes, she's rung the…the…'

Chelsey looked across at her father, who said,

'The LEA. They'll send someone over to teach her, like they did for Emily.'

'How do you feel about that?'

'Okay, I suppose. Miss Glasson said that if any of the other children call me a freak then I'm to tell her.'

Martin finished cleaning the kitchen and went into the waiting room, where several people were waiting including the Baker's. Unfortunately, Paul's next patient had arrived, so Martin rescheduled Chelsey for later that day. Checking the appointments book, which he noticed, had been carefully ticked off, he said,

'Mr Jeffries.'

Grabbing the right notes from the cabinet, Martin hurried through to his consulting room.

By the time he'd finished his morning surgery, Martin was in a foul mood. Trying to cope without Pauline was impossible and as if that wasn't bad enough, several people had commented on how nice it was to see him without his jacket on.

Dialling Truro hospital, he was pleased to find out that Mrs Carter had been admitted and was being given antibiotics intravenously and that Pauline had regained consciousness in the ambulance. She had had her cuts stitched and was being kept in for observation.

Replacing the patient notes back in the filing cabinet, Martin saw Paul's last appointment leaving and a couple of minutes later, Paul came downstairs.

'Paul, has Pauline been coming to you for counselling?'

'No, she isn't on my list.'

'I might need you to see her. She's been suffering from insomnia with no obvious physical cause. I can't imagine what might be bothering her but it looks as though the cause may be psychological.'

Paul blinked at Martin, surprised again by his lack of basic understanding of other people,

'Didn't you tell me she helped you during the incident at the school?'

'Yes. So?'

'That could be the cause of her insomnia.'

'Why?'

'She hasn't had any proper medical training has she?'

'Well, she's a trained phlebotomist and she has a first aid certificate, but no, no genuine medical training.'

'So, she won't have learnt how to deal with those sorts of things. And it was pretty terrible, wasn't it?'

For a moment, Martin flashed back to the school, to Chelsey's terrified whimpering, Molly nearly dying under his hands, finding Louisa unconscious, and the row of small bodies lying beside the rubble. Blinking back tears, he said,

'Yes.'

'I'll start seeing her as soon as she's out of hospital.'

'Good.'

Martin left the surgery but instead of walking down the hill, he went up on to the cliff, away from the village and the memories that surfaced every time he walked past the school. He knew he was supposed to be able to cope. Real men didn't cry no matter how much pain they were in. His father had taught him that, telling him that he was a weakling and a eunuch whenever he cried.  
He walked until he was sure that he could walk through the village without showing any emotion, without letting anyone see how he felt inside. Then he turned back to Port Wenn, ready to pretend once more that he felt nothing at all.

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	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Seventeen

The man looked at the email in puzzlement, not understanding why a woman he barely knew was sending him a message labelled 'important'. He opened the email and read, the colour draining from his face as he absorbed its contents. Shaking, he got to his feet and headed to the manager's office.

Paul Milligan was feeling tired. It wasn't a feeling that he was used to. Throughout his life, he'd only ever needed four hours sleep a night and could easily manage on three. However, trying to help people cope with the aftermath of the tragedy at the school was challenging his professional detachment and trying to ignore his feelings for Sally Tishell was eating into his sleep. He spent his days with grieving adults and children, many of whom were suffering from post-traumatic stress as well. And his nights were spent thinking about a woman he couldn't have, who he wasn't even sure wanted him, let alone loved him. He was increasingly sure that he was in love with Sally Tishell. At first he'd thought that it was just infatuation but as time had passed his feelings had become stronger and deeper until he was no longer concerned with his own happiness, only with hers. He wanted her to be happy but had no idea how he could help her to become happy. Sally rarely spoke about her husband but some discreet questions to some of the villagers had painted a picture of a lust-driven courtship followed by a rapid cooling off and disappointment. Disappointment because Clive wasn't able to have children and adopting wasn't a realistic option when one of the parents was working away almost permanently and the other was working full time as a pharmacist; permission to adopt would almost certainly be refused. So, Sally had thrown herself into village life and made do with providing an invaluable service to the community; very few villages had their own pharmacies nowadays. She clearly found Martin extremely attractive but he, equally clearly, did not find her attractive. In his professional opinion, Paul thought that Martin's lack of interest was a good thing as their personalities were not compatible; Martin needed a woman who would stand up to him and Sally needed a man who would respect her gentleness and intelligence. And on a personal level, he didn't envy Louisa trying to forge a permanent relationship with Martin as the physical and emotional abuse that Martin had suffered would make it very hard. And Louisa was ridiculously insecure for a woman with her intelligence and beauty, caused no doubt by her mother abandoning her when she was a young child. At least Louisa was coming for counselling and genuinely wanted his help; if she worked through her issues she would find it easier to deal with Martin.

Sighing, Paul locked his patient records in the filing cabinet and prepared to lock up the surgery once Martin had finished with his last patient of the day. It was five o'clock on Sunday evening and Martin was still consulting, determined to get through his list no matter what. They had seen Chelsey and her family earlier and had discussed Chelsey's nightmare and her reaction to it. To Paul's amusement, Chelsey had meekly accepted Martin's assessment of her behaviour as 'silly' and had agreed that she should check the entire house another time before leaving. Martin was completely oblivious to the little girl's hero worship and remained puzzled by his success with Chelsey. Ian Baker had suggested to Martin that Chelsey liked his logical approach, which had increased Martin's confusion, as he erroneously believed that children were illogical and unpredictable, as well as disgusting and germ-ridden.

The door to Martin's consulting room opened and Danny Steel came out, followed by Martin. Danny was talking animatedly, despite Martin's monosyllabic responses,

'You really should come up to London some time, Martin. You and Lou could bring Peter and we could go round the Tate Modern.'

'No.'

'Why not? It's fascinating stuff, you know.'

'No it isn't. It's pretentious rubbish done by talentless parasites and foisted on the public by the imbeciles of the art establishment, most of whom are so drink and drug-addled that you could extract enough chemicals from their bodies to run a small hospital.'

Danny blinked, then said,

'How about one of the museums then?'

'No.'

'Oh, come on, Martin. You can't tell me that London hasn't got some of the best museums in the world.'

Exasperated, Martin forced himself to explain,

'Peter is only nineteen weeks old and Louisa is still recovering from her injuries. Why on Earth would we want to come up to London now?'

'You're right, of course. I didn't think. Perhaps in a few years time.'

Martin grunted, clearly not interested and Paul suppressed a smile; Danny desperately wanted to impress Martin but had no idea how to do it. Paul wondered if Danny's need for approval was a normal part of his character or caused by his illness. Danny started to speak again but Martin ruthlessly over rode him, saying,

'Milligan, can you fit Danny in for some sessions?'

'Yes.'

'He's only here for six weeks but you're reasonably competent so it's probably worth him seeing you.'

Danny gaped, astounded by Martin's rudeness but Paul was unruffled; he knew he was very good at what he did and he also knew that Martin had no idea how rude he'd just been. He simply said,

'I'm sure it'll be useful. How much medication is he currently on?'

'He's still taking Prozac and Saint John's Wort in slowly decreasing doses. He'll be off them both in twenty-four days.'

'Right. Danny, I've got an appointment at nine tomorrow morning, if that's not too early?'

'No, that's fine.'

'Good. Just come straight up as soon as you arrive. If my door's closed, please wait on the sofa.'

'Yes. Thanks.'

Danny left and Paul wryly considered his ever-increasing workload. Pauline would need counselling as soon as she left hospital as well, adding to his already ridiculous patient list. If it weren't for the fact that a lot of his patients were closely related to each other and could be seen in family groups, he'd be working twenty-four hours a day. As it was, he was working more than sixty hours a week but Martin was right, they had to do it. The villagers needed their help to heal.

Martin put his patient notes away and left without a word. Paul stood in the middle of the waiting room and tried to decide what to do. He and Sally had a standing arrangement to work on the paper on the new drug whenever they had time but he was tired and didn't feel like working. He tried to convince himself to ring her to cancel but he couldn't turn down an opportunity to see her, even if all they talked about was side-effects and brain chemistry. Walking down the hill, Paul wryly acknowledged that once this paper was finished, he would search for another drug trial to discuss with her. Anything that meant he could see her and talk to her and spend some time with her.

Sally waited for Paul to arrive. She'd made beef stew with dumplings tonight with rhubarb and custard to follow. Good hearty food to give him energy and help him unwind. She'd heard from numerous people how good Paul was, so sympathetic and helpful. He was helping the children who'd survived understand that it wasn't their fault that the others had died and he was helping the parents who'd lost their children too. Letting them all know that it was all right to feel angry. Angry with Sam's father who had used his own son as an experiment in child rearing, angry with the 4x4 owner for leaving the engine running whilst he was in a shop, angry with Penhale for chasing Sam and angry with the delivery driver who'd left the school gates open. Teaching them to express their anger and deal with it rather than bottle it up and explode. Paul had even been going in to the hospital to visit poor Mrs Harris, who was still living in her own dream world, where her daughter Ellen was still alive.

Paul knocked on Sally's door, feeling his heart speed up as he waited for her to come to the door. The door opened and Paul looked into Sally's smiling face and had to force himself not to kiss her,

'Hello.'

'Come in. You look tired.'

The concern in Sally's voice was completely genuine and Paul's heart leapt as he saw the affection in her eyes. Ruthlessly reminding himself that she looked on him as a friend, Paul followed Sally into her kitchen, saying,

'I think I've been trying to do too much.'

'Oh dear.'

'Would you mind if we only did an hour on the paper tonight?'

'Of course not. We don't have to work at all tonight if you're too tired.'

As she spoke, Sally gently squeezed his shoulder and Paul shivered as pleasure shot through his veins.

'Why don't you sit down and relax whilst I put the dumplings in.'

Paul sat down and watched Sally moving about the kitchen, unable to even pretend that he wasn't admiring her body. By the time the food was ready, his body was buzzing with suppressed desire and Paul was wondering how annoyed Sally would be with him if he kissed her again.

Sally knew that Paul had been watching her whilst she cooked, running his eyes up and down her body. Normally, behaviour like that would annoy her, but tonight she found it erotic. She could tell that Paul was aroused and knowing that she had that sort of power over him excited her and she wondered what it would be like to make love with him.

Sternly reminding herself that she was married, Sally sat down and started talking about a very dull article she'd read about unusual side-effects from prescribed medicines, hoping to get through the evening without kissing him.

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	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Eighteen

Sally sighed as she got ready for bed; sometimes having morals was very hard. She had said goodbye to Paul without even a kiss on the cheek despite the hormones buzzing round her body. Unfortunately, the rewards of virtue were sometimes very nebulous, but Sally reminded herself that she had never two-timed anyone in her life, not even as a reckless teenager, and she wasn't about to start now. Putting on her brushed cotton pyjamas, Sally decided that it was time that she thought seriously about her life.

The next day started quietly. Paul had his first session with Danny Steel where they covered Louisa, life as an architect and Louisa again. Paul let Danny talk, knowing that quite a lot of his current negativity was caused by his medication. It was clear, however, that Paul needed to help Danny accept that Louisa would never be in love with him again and couldn't imagine living with him. Danny admitted that Louisa had not told him she was living in London, so even after breaking up with Martin and finding out that she was pregnant, Louisa still hadn't turned to Danny for support. Even in his current confused state of mind, Danny knew that was significant, so Paul was hopeful that he would be able to help Danny start to move on.

Paul worked steadily through the morning, listening to people and doing his best to help them but knowing that for some of them it would be a very long time before the pain subsided.

Over lunch he rang Chris Parsons,

'Chris Parsons.'

'Chris, Paul Milligan here.'

'Hello Paul. How are you?'

'I'm fine. How are you?'

Paul and Chris spent a few minutes chatting about Chris' family and the latest government proposals for the NHS, then Chris said,

'What can I do for you, Paul?'

'As you know, I've been coming to Truro to help the psych team try to treat Mrs Harris.'

'Yes?'

'It's taking too much of my time and we're not getting anywhere, so I was considering dropping her from my patient list.'

'Are you really not able to help her?'

'She needs a different specialist. I'm very good at helping people deal with reality. Mrs Harris has retreated from reality and I don't know how to help her. You need Michael Fisher or Robert Jones to have a look at her.'

'I can't afford them. I can only afford you because we got some Emergency Response funds from the Department of Health.'

'Robert Jones might be prepared to waive his fee; I know he gets bored with the run of the mill cases he normally gets. I'll give him a call.'

'Thanks.'

Paul and Chris exchanged a few more courtesies and then said goodbye and Paul heaved a sigh of relief. Every time he visited Mrs Harris he felt completely helpless. She was firmly in her dream world, where Ellen was alive and everything was all right, and Paul had no idea how to help her or whether he even should. Part of him felt that it would be cruel to bring her back to the real world where her only child was buried next to her husband but if she were left in her dream, her delusion might lead her to kidnap another child. Paul made a note to ring Robert Jones and checked his appointment diary. His next appointment was Chelsey Baker, who was still insisting on being counselled by Martin (much to everyone's disbelief), so he went downstairs to the waiting room.

The patients in the waiting room told him that Martin was running five minutes late, so Paul went into the kitchen and made a mug of tea for himself. When he came back to the waiting room, Ian and Chelsey Baker had arrived so Paul sat next to them and idly chatted whilst they waited for Martin. It was only a couple more minutes before Martin's consulting room door opened and Martin came out, followed by an elderly man who was clutching a prescription and looking indignant,

'How was I supposed to know?' said the man in an aggrieved tone.

'Haven't you heard of safe sex?'

'But she seemed like such a lovely young woman.'

'For goodness sake! Why am I surrounded by imbeciles? Mr Sutcliffe, let me see if I can put this in words of one syllable for you; you cannot tell by looking at someone whether or not they have a sexually transmitted disease. Always use a condom.'

'Like you did with Louisa Glasson?'

'That was different. I didn't just pick Louisa up off a street corner in Truro.'

'Eloise is not a prostitute, she's a waitress.'

'Right. So she didn't charge you, then? Or ask for a loan?'

Mr Sutcliffe gave Martin a haughty look and walked out of the surgery without replying. As he was opening the door, Martin shouted,

'And make sure you tell your other sexual partners to come in for a prescription!'

Mr Sutcliffe left without replying so Martin turned to waiting patients and said,

'Make sure anyone who's had sexual intercourse with Mr Sutcliffe in the last month comes to see me.'

The villagers happily nodded, delighted to have an excuse to gossip, all except for Chelsey, who said,

'What's sexual intercourse? And what's a sexually transmitted disease?'

'Sexual intercourse is…'

'Doc!'

Ian Baker's alarmed cry stopped Martin for long enough for Ian to say,

'She's too young. The wife'll tell her when she's older.'

Disconcerted, Martin gave Chelsey an apologetic look. He had no idea why he wasn't supposed to tell Chelsey about sex; she seemed intelligent enough to understand a brief clinical description. And what did her age have to do with it? Martin made a mental note to ask Louisa about it later.

Checking his appointments diary, and giving the people who had arrived over half an hour early for their appointments baffled looks, Martin turned to the Bakers and Paul and said,

'Come through.'

They followed Martin into his consulting room and went through the familiar routine of setting up chairs in a circle and sitting down. Martin cleared his throat and said to Chelsey,

'How are you feeling today?'

'All right,' replied Chelsey, unenthusiastically.

'Hmm. Any nightmares last night?'

'No.'

'Get off to sleep all right?'

'Yes.'

'Have you eaten breakfast and lunch today.'

'Yes and I ate the apple and the raisins in my lunch box.'

'Good. How's your mood been?'

'Okay, I suppose.'

Chelsey didn't sound at all sure so Martin turned to Ian Baker, who said,

'She don't seem quite herself, Doc.'

'In what way?'

'Tired and a bit fed up, like. The wife checked her temperature before sending her to school this morning and it was normal.'

'Hmm.'

Martin took out his thermometer and took Chelsey's temperature,

'Still normal.'

Chelsey's glands were normal and when Martin checked her ears and throat they were both normal too.

'Any aches or pain anywhere?'

'No.'

'Have your bowels moved today?

'Yes.'

'Was it normal?'

'Yes.'

'Hmm. Has she had chickenpox?'

'No.'

'It's going around and it's common for children to feel a bit out of sorts before the spots come out. We'll know in a few days if it is chickenpox.'

'And if it's not?' asked Ian.

'Then it might be a reaction to what happened at the school. How are you finding it, being back at school?'

'It feels wrong. Miss Ellis moved us all around and I'm sat next to Rose and Josh now.'

'And you don't like them?'

'I like Rose but Josh is stupid.'

'Well he can't help that. Intelligence is largely genetically based.'

'Genetically based?' asked Chelsey.

Reminding himself that he was dealing with an ignorant child, Martin explained,

'You get things like hair colour and intelligence from your parents.'

'So it's his parents fault he's stupid?'

'Yes.'

Paul winced inwardly. It didn't take any psychic ability at all to guess what Chelsey was going to say to Josh the next time she was angry with him. He quietly said,

'Do you mean that Josh is bad at school or that he annoys you?'

'He annoys me. He's so stupid; he just talks about football all the time.'

'Then it may not be genetic at all. He may just be football mad.'

Chelsey looked disappointed but before she could suggest that being football mad was a sign of inherited stupidity, Martin said,

'Do you and Rose play together?'

'Sometimes. She misses Ellen so sometimes she cries and sometimes she goes and hits the punch bags.'

The punch bags had been Paul's idea. He had persuaded the school to let him put inflatable punch bags in the school hall so that the children could vent their anger. So far, two had been punched and kicked so hard that they had broken but, as far as Paul was concerned, that was good as it meant that the children were venting their anger without restraint.

'Do you hit the punch bags?'

'Sometimes.'

'Does it help?'

'Yes but I wish…'

'You wish?'

'I wish it had never happened and Jack and Laura were still alive.'

Martin looked helplessly across at Paul, who said,

'We all wish it hadn't happened.'

'But it did… and they're dead…I hate Sam Oakwood!'

Chelsey burst into tears and Martin watched awkwardly as Ian Baker pulled the little girl on to his lap and comforted her. Watching Ian's casual competence, Martin wondered if he'd ever be able to be that good with Peter. Perhaps if he read some more textbooks. Martin made a note to order some more books on child psychology.

By the time that Chelsey had calmed down, it was time to end the session so they all left the consulting room. As Paul crossed the waiting room a man said,

'Are you Doctor Milligan?'

'Yes.'

'You total bastard!'

Paul Milligan stared at the man in blank incomprehension, so confused that he completely failed to notice the fist headed for his face.

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	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Nineteen

Luckily for Paul Milligan, Ian Baker was not oblivious. He pushed Paul firmly to the side, so that the punch aimed for his nose grazed the side of his cheek instead. He had heard all the gossip about Sally Tishell and Paul Milligan, so the instant that he saw Clive Tishell in the waiting room he had expected trouble. Grabbing Clive by the shoulders, he pulled him firmly away from Paul. Clive struggled briefly but Ian Baker was much stronger than he was and had no trouble holding him back. Martin looked at Clive Tishell in disgust,

'Mr Tishell, control yourself! I will not tolerate violence in my surgery!'

Shocked, Paul looked at Clive in consternation, for once at a loss for words. What do you say to a man whose wife you've fallen in love with? A man whom you wish would disappear forever.

'But he's been sleeping with my wife!' said Clive, aggressively.

'I don't care. Violence is not acceptable.'

'But…'

'Shut up! Baker, get him out of here.'

Ian Baker nodded and taking Clive Tishell firmly by the arm, walked calmly out of the surgery, ignoring Clive's struggles.

Martin turned to Paul, putting a hand under his chin and tilting Paul's head so that he could see properly,

'Rotate your jaw for me.'

Paul automatically obeyed, still stunned by what had happened. Martin looked at him critically, then said,

'Seems completely superficial. Put some ice on it and come and see me if the pain gets worse.'

Paul nodded and the motion seemed to wake him out of his stupor. Plaintively, he said,

'But I didn't sleep with her.'

'Of course you didn't. Clive Tishell's a complete moron even by Port Wenn's standards.'

Paul started to protest but Martin had already walked over to the appointments diary and was rummaging in the filing cabinet for patient notes,

'Mrs Finch, come through.'

'Actually doctor, I think I might see if Mrs Tishell has anything that might help me. There's no point wasting your time if she's got something that can help.'

'Good.'

As Martin was putting her patient notes back, three other women got to their feet saying,

'True.'

'She's right. We should talk to Mrs Tishell first.'

'I'm sure she'll be able to help.'

Baffled, Martin watched as the three followed Mrs Finch, moving far more quickly than he would have expected,

'Make sure you come and see me if Mrs Tishell can't help you or if your symptoms persist.'

Paul gazed after them in horror. The women were clearly hoping to see Clive Tishell confront his wife and Paul was sure that their wish would be granted. Clive had been furious and having been stopped from attacking Paul, he was bound to go and find Sally next. Feeling sick, Paul started towards the door. He had only taken two steps when he was stopped by a gentle hand on his arm,

'It won't help.'

Turning, Paul saw Mrs Jenkins looking at him sympathetically,

'You'll only make it worse, Doctor Milligan.'

'But he might hurt Sally.'

'I don't think so. Clive adores her. Also, how is Sally supposed to convince him that she hasn't been sleeping with you if you rush down there to protect her.'

The truth of Mrs Jenkins' words stopped Paul in his steps. Charging down to the pharmacy was the worst possible thing he could do. It would only convince Clive that the rumours were true. Reluctantly, he turned and made his way slowly upstairs.

Outside the surgery, Ian Baker was trying to calm Clive Tishell. Both his own taciturnity and the audience that had rapidly gathered hampered his efforts. He tried to find the words to reassure Clive,

'I'm sure there's nothing in it.'

'You saw him; young and good-looking and clever. Of course Sally prefers him to me.'

'I'm sure that's not true,' said Ian, trying to sound convincing and failing. He'd always found Clive and Sally an odd pairing and there was no denying that Paul Milligan had a lot going for him.

Clive heard the hesitancy in Ian's voice and said wretchedly,

'I've always known she was too good for me but I never thought she'd cheat on me.'

'I don't think…'

'No smoke without fire, that's what I always say,' interrupted a cheerful voice in the crowd.

Horrified, Ian turned to argue with the speaker but it was too late; in true Port Wenn style, the crowd joined in,

'I wouldn't have thought it of Sally Tishell, such a quiet woman.'

'Ah, but you know what they say, still waters run deep.'

'Aye, it's the quiet ones that are the most passionate.'

'Mind you, he hasn't been staying over night.'

'Hasn't he? Are you sure?'

'Oh no. He always leaves by eleven. I see him when I let the dog out last thing.'

For a moment Ian Baker thought that common sense would prevail but then a voice in the crowd said,

'What would he need to stay over night for? If you're having an affair with a married woman, you does the deed and goes. No point hanging around to be caught.'

'He's got a point. It only takes five minutes.'

'Not if you want to be invited back for a second round.'

'Well, okay then, twenty minutes.'

'Twenty minutes! You should be ashamed of yourself, Ted.'

Ian Baker looked as his daughters in horror as Ted withered under a barrage of scorn from the assembled women,

'You wouldn't get a repeat invitation from me if twenty minutes is long enough for you!'

'He wouldn't get through my front door with that attitude!'

'I feel sorry for your wife. Inconsiderate, that's what you are.'

How on Earth was he going to explain this to his wife? Distracted, Ian let go of Clive's arm and hustled his girls quickly away, shushing Chelsey when she asked what the adults meant.

Sally Tishell smiled as she handed a prescription over to Mrs Carter,

'Here's your prescription. Can I get you anything else?'

'No, thank you.'

Mrs Carter took her prescription and Sally turned to the next person in the shop,

'Good morning, Bert. What can I do for you today?'

'Morning, Sally. It's my back; it's bad again. I was watching a programme on Chinese medicine and they used ground rhino horn for back pain and I wondered what you thought of it.'

'Ground rhino horn? Are you sure?'

'Ah, now you to come to mention it, I'm not sure. It might have been for rheumatism or was it piles? Anyway, what I was going to ask you was, do you think it would help my back?'

'No and if your back's worse I really think that you should go and see Doctor Ellingham again.'

'Are you sure…'

Bert broke off mid-sentence as Clive Tishell stormed into the shop,

'Sally, I want a word with you!'

'Clive, what are you doing here?'

'I need to talk to you.'

'But Clive, I'm in the middle of serving customers. Can't it wait till lunchtime?'

'So you can consult with your toy boy and get your stories straight?'

'What? What toy boy?'

'That Doctor Milligan. You should be ashamed of yourself; he's half your age.'

Sally stared at Clive, aghast,

'He's not my toy boy. We're professional colleagues, that's all.'

Clive laughed sarcastically,

'Right. Let me guess, he comes over to help you with the prescriptions.'

'Doctor Milligan has been consulting me about a new anti-depressant currently undergoing clinical trials. We're writing a paper on it.'

The innocent pride in Sally's voice made Clive pause for an instant but then jealousy and insecurity took over,

'What sort of a fool d'you think I am? You're having an affair with him.'

'No, I'm not!'

'Don't bother denying it, someone saw you.'

'Clive, I don't know what someone thinks they saw but I am _not_ having an affair. I would never be unfaithful to you.'

'Liar! You're a Jezebel, that's what you are. My mother was right, I should never have married you.'

Sally Tishell was an even-tempered woman but Clive's words pushed her to fury,

'And I should never have married you! Get out and don't come back!'

'What?'

'You heard me. Get out!'

Coming out from behind the counter, Sally advanced on her suddenly silent husband and started pushing him towards the door, her eyes blazing with rage. Wide-eyed, Clive said,

'B…but when shall I come back?'

Pushing him through the door, Sally replied emphatically,

'Never.'

'Never? But Sally…'

'I want a divorce!'

Clive stared at her in disbelief as she swept back into the pharmacy and slammed the door closed behind her,

'No, Sally…'

White-faced, Clive turned and walked away.

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	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews. :):):)

Chapter Twenty

The news that Sally Tishell had asked Clive for a divorce raced around Port Wenn. Within an hour, the only person who didn't know about it was Martin, simply because he'd brusquely interrupted the patients who'd tried to tell him about it.

Paul Milligan initially pretended to be unconcerned, until he realised that all he was doing was providing the villagers with entertainment. Accepting that he was fated to be known as 'the other man', Paul stopped pretending that he didn't care and got a detailed eye-witness account from Mrs Finch. After she'd told him everything she'd seen and heard, including the news that Clive Tishell was now in the pub, drowning his sorrows, Mrs Finch looked enquiringly at him and said,

'So, will you be moving in with Sally now?'

'No.'

'Like to keep your options open, do you?'

'No, it's not that,' said Paul, hesitating. He knew that Mrs Finch spent most of her day gossiping but he wanted to tell his side of the story, 'The gossip was wrong; Sally and I aren't lovers. I don't even know if she'd be interested in a relationship with me.'

'A fine young man like you? She'd be a fool if she wasn't.'

Paul Milligan felt himself blushing, but inside the hope he'd been feeling since he'd heard the news burned higher. Perhaps he was the reason that Sally wanted a divorce. And even if he wasn't, now that she was available, he was determined to woo her.

Mrs Finch left, making a beeline for the café, where she regaled her friends with an embroidered version of their conversation, including the news that Paul had been pale and lovelorn. The women happily speculated about Sally's new suitor over tea and cakes, before heading off to find more people to tell.

Martin finished tidying up the patient notes and left the surgery. It was six o'clock and he was feeling weary. When he arrived back at the cottage, he found Louisa playing with Peter in the lounge. Peter was sat on the floor and Louisa was helping him make a tower out of soft blocks. As Martin came in, they both looked up at him and smiled and Martin found himself smiling back.

'Joan brought a casserole over and popped it in the oven. There are jacket potatoes in the oven too.'

'Good.'

'Are you going to take me to have my plaster removed tomorrow or shall I ask Joan?'

Martin hesitated, torn between his totally full appointment book and his desire to supervise the hospital staff. Deciding to call Chris Parsons to get him to supervise, Martin said,

'I can't.'

Knowing that every surgery was completely full Louisa just nodded, saying,

'I'll call Joan after dinner. Are you ready to eat?'

'Yes.'

Martin dished up and they ate. After dinner, Martin sat in the lounge with Peter on his lap, reading to him. Martin had been horrified by the content of Peter's books and insisted on reading non-fiction to him. Louisa had put her foot down, however, and had banned medical texts, providing Martin with a selection of non-fiction books suitable for young children. Tonight, Peter gurgled happily as Martin read about big cats. Louisa smiled as Martin described the habitat of leopards in far too much detail. When he moved on to their mating habits, she intervened, saying,

'Martin, he's too young for that.'

'Too young for what?'

'Mating habits.'

'Why?'

'Well, first of all, he's only five months old so he doesn't understand what you're saying. Secondly, you don't normally talk to children about that sort of thing until they're a lot older.'

'Why ever not? It's a normal physical function.'

'Yes, but young children sometimes find it confusing.'

'Hmm. But what about when they're old enough to understand?'

'Then it's up to their parents to explain it or if they're a bit older, they learn about it at school.'

Martin digested what Louisa was saying in silence, pleased to have Ian Baker's reaction explained to him. Presumably, if people were that uptight about animal mating habits, they were even more ridiculous when it came to sexual intercourse.  
Peter squirmed on his lap and Martin carried on with his book, this time keeping himself to the information on the page.

The next day, it was Joan Norton who raised the alarm. Driving into the village to collect Louisa for her hospital appointment, she saw a patch of colour in one of the fields, close to the cliff edge. Limping across the field, she was relieved to see that it was just a pile of clothes. Leaning down, she realised that it was a full set of men's clothing, complete with boxers and socks. Wondering who's Stag Night it had been last night, she was about to leave when she realised that there was blood on the shirt. Cursing, she pulled out her phone and called Joe Penhale.

Joe looked sombrely down at the pile of clothes. As a responsible law enforcement officer, he made it his job to make sure that he knew everything that was going on in his patch, and he knew that there hadn't been any Stag Nights or other parties in Port Wenn last night. Joan Norton had refused to stay to give him a statement but he could see that she was right; it was a full set of clothing, adult male, with blood on the shirt and possibly the jacket too. Joe took out his police issue digital camera and took shots of the clothing from several different angles, making sure to get a good close up of the blood. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and carefully lifted the trousers so he could check the pockets. Finding a wallet in the back right hand one, he gingerly opened it and slid out the credit card and company id card. Both bore the same name and Joe looked at them in consternation, feeling a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. Not again! Not in his village.  
Steeling himself he took more photos of the grass along the cliff edge and then began a painstaking examination of the scene. After half an hour, he gave up. People regularly hiked along this section of the cliff so there was a jumble of footprints on the path next to the edge. Closer to the clothes, the grass was unmarked but it had been dry the previous night so that was unsurprising. Swallowing nervously, Penhale looked over the edge, down to the crashing waves below. There was no sign of a body but the tide was in, battering sullenly against cliff face below. Joe knew that he would have to check with the local fishermen, but bodies that went in from this side of Port Wenn usually got caught in the current and washed ashore a few miles north.  
Carefully putting the clothes into an evidence bag, Joe checked the scene one more time before returning to his vehicle and heading back to Port Wenn.

Sally Tishell had had a sleepless night, wondering if she'd done the right thing. Clive was infuriating but was she really ready to ask him for a divorce? In the cold light of day, her decision seemed impetuous but did that make it wrong? She remembered the last time that Clive had been home from the oil rig, suffering from hearing loss and telling her that he was home for good. She'd been so relieved when Doctor Ellingham had found out what was wrong with him and he'd gone away again. What sort of marriage was it when she never wanted him around? A failed one, that's what. Feeling more at peace with her decision, Sally carried on serving customers with her usual quiet politeness.  
It was about an hour later that PC Penhale came in, carrying a parcel of clothes. There were two women in the shop and Penhale shooed them out saying,

'Official Police business, ladies. I'll have to ask you to leave, I'm afraid.'

Assuming that he had come for more haemorrhoid cream, Sally said,

'The usual?'

'No. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?'

Nonplussed, Sally waited for a half smile or embarrassed glance to indicate that he had an infection that he didn't want anyone in the village to know about, but he was completely serious. Hesitantly, she locked the pharmacy door and flipped the sign over to 'Closed', before leading Penhale upstairs to the kitchen.

They sat down and Joe put the bag of clothes on the table,

'Mrs Tishell, are these your husband's clothes?'

Bewildered, Sally cast her mind back to the previous day,

'I…I think so. Where did you find them?'

'I'm sorry to have to inform you that they were found earlier today by the cliff path to Rock.'

'But, what were they doing there?'

'Have you seen your husband today?'

'No, but I expect he's at the pub.'

'No, he's not and no one's seen him since last night. I'm afraid we have to assume that he's dead.'

'Dead? He can't be.'

'I'll have the fishermen look for his body. I'm afraid it'll be rather bashed up, but we'll hope that you'll be able to identify it.'

'But…but…'

'I know this is a shock but I need to know; did your husband have any enemies?'

Sally tried to answer but the nausea she'd been feeling since Penhale had asked her about Clive's clothes dramatically increased and Sally vomited all over Penhale's arm.

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	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Twenty-One

Martin was in the middle of examining a mole on Bert Large's left buttock, when the door opened and one of the teenage girls barged in,

'Doc…'

'Get out!'

'But it's Constable Penhale on the phone, he says it's an emergency. Hello, Mr Large.'

'Hello, Tracy, how are you?'

'Fine, thanks.'

'Quiet! You, Tracy, put the phone through to here.'

'How?'

'Press hash and then 1.'

'All right. That mole looks quite normal to me, Mr Large.'

'Get out, you imbecile!'

'Tosser!'

Tracy flounced out and Martin grimaced, he would no doubt have to go out to the waiting room to take Penhale's call with half the village listening in. However, a few seconds later, his phone buzzed and picking up the receiver he heard Penhale's voice, saying,

'Doc? Is that you?'

'Yes, what's the emergency?'

'It's Mrs Tishell, she's not responding to me.'

'What do you mean, not responding? Is she conscious?'

'Yes, but she's ignoring me.'

'And that's unusual?'

'Yes, she's very polite usually', said Penhale in an aggrieved tone of voice, 'She's looking right through me and she's pale and shivering. I think she's in shock.'

'Why would Mrs Tishell be in shock? Has something happened?'

Behind Martin, Bert lifted his head off the couch so that he could hear more clearly.

'Well, I had to give her some bad news and she didn't take it very well, I'm afraid.'

'What sort of bad news?'

'About her husband, he's dead, I'm afraid.'

'Clive Tishell's dead?'

'Yes and I was just asking her if Mr Tishell had any enemies when she was sick and now, well, I don't like the look of her and that's the truth.'

'I'll be right there. Are you at the pharmacy?'

'Yes.'

Martin hung up and turned to Bert, saying,

'Emergency, I've got to go. The mole's fine. Lose some weight.'

Martin grabbed his medical bag and rushed out. As he crossed the waiting room, he realised that with Pauline still off sick, the surgery would be chaos by the time he got back. Looking round, he spotted the teenage girl who'd answered the phone,

'You, Tracy, do you want to earn some money?'

'Yes.'

'Can you read?'

'What?'

'Can you read? It's a simple enough question!'

'Of course I can read. What sort of moron d'you think I am?'

'Are you infectious?'

'What?'

'Why were you coming to see me? Was it for a repeat prescription or are you ill?'

'Repeat prescription.'

'Good. Take charge here. No one goes into the consulting room except Doctor Milligan.'

'How much?'

'What?'

'How much are you going to pay me?'

'Six pound an hour.'

'Ten pounds an hour.'

'Eight.'

'Deal.'

'Ring my mobile if there's another emergency.'

'Right. What's your…'

Tracy realised that she was talking to a closed door and swore,

'Tosser! How am I supposed to ring him when I haven't got his number?'

'Not to worry, love. I've got it,' said Bert, emerging ponderously from the consulting room and going over to Tracy, saying,

'I expect the Doc was a bit preoccupied, what with being worried about poor Sally Tishell.'

'Why? What's happened to her?'

'Gone into shock.'

'Why?'

'Her husband's dead.'

'No! How?'

'I don't know but he was fit as a fiddle last night.'

'Pissed as a newt too. John had to throw him out of the pub in the end.'

'Well, he was upset, wasn't he.'

'And now he's dead. Terrible.'

As Bert and Tracy carried on gossiping, people all over the waiting room reached for their phones to spread the news.

When Martin reached the pharmacy, Joe was waiting to let him in,

'I did what it says in the Police Training Manual but she won't drink it.'

'What?'

'The Police Training Manual, it says to wrap sufferers from shock in a blanket and get them to drink hot, sweet tea, but she won't drink it.'

'Where is she?'

'In the kitchen.'

Martin went upstairs and found Sally Tishell sat on one of the kitchen chairs, gazing vacantly into space, a blanket draped lopsidedly over her shoulders. There was vomit on the table and floor and when Penhale followed him up, Martin said,

'Clean that up.'

'But I don't know where she keeps her cleaning materials.'

'Try under the sink.'

Penhale started rummaging under the sink and Martin turned back to Sally, carrying out a brief visual examination before taking her pulse. She was cold, pale and sweating and her pulse was rapid. She was also shaking from head to toe. Looking directly into her eyes, Martin said clearly,

'Mrs Tishell, it's Doctor Ellingham. Can you hear me?'

Sally's expression didn't alter so Martin placed his hands on her shoulders and said loudly,

'Mrs Tishell! Can you hear me?'

Mrs Tishell still didn't react at all. Martin tried a few more times but Mrs Tishell was completely unresponsive. Sighing, Martin pulled out his phone and called an ambulance. Once assured that the ambulance was on its way, he hung up. Turning to Penhale, who had finally finished mopping up, Martin said,

'How did Clive Tishell die?'

'Pushed over the cliff.'

'Where's the body?'

'Washed out to sea, most likely.'

'You haven't got the body?'

'Not yet,' said Penhale defensively.

'So how do you know he was pushed?'

'Information gleaned during the course of my enquiries leads me to believe that there was foul play.'

'What information?'

'I'm not at liberty to discuss that, I'm afraid.'

Martin glared at Penhale and after squirming for a bit, Penhale said,

'There was blood on his shirt and jacket.'

'How much?'

'Um…'

'A teaspoon? A pint?'

'I don't know.'

'Were his clothes saturated or just spattered?'

'There was blood all down the front of the shirt but just a few splotches on his jacket.'

'Hmm, any cuts or tears in the shirt?'

'Not that I saw.'

'Probably from an external injury. Head or face, most likely.'

'I'm assuming the perp stunned him, removed his clothes and then threw him off the cliff.'

'Removed his clothes? Why?'

'So that the body couldn't be identified.'

'You don't need his clothes to identify him.'

'You know that, Doc, but your average lay person wouldn't.'

Martin looked at Penhale in disbelief. Every time he thought that he had plumbed the depths of his intelligence, Penhale said something even more moronic than before. With every third show on television being a crime or police show, everyone knew that the police would use fingerprints, dental records or DNA for identification. Shaking his head, he turned back to Mrs Tishell, to check for any changes in her condition.

Paul Milligan discreetly checked his watch, it was time to bring his session with Danny Steel to an end,

'I want you to think about what we've discussed today, particularly how important it is not to let your feelings for Louisa stop you from moving forward in other areas of your life.'

'Right.'

'Good. I'll see you at the same time on Thursday, if that's still convenient for you.'

'Yes, thank you.'

Paul stood up and led Danny downstairs. As he stepped into the waiting room it went completely silent. After a moment, Bert asked,

'Is Mrs Tishell all right, Doc?'

Baffled, Paul said,

'Why wouldn't she be?'

'Ah, you haven't heard then?'

'Heard what?'

'Doc Martin rushed off to look after her. She came over all peculiar when Penhale told her that Clive had been murdered.'

Paul tried to process what Bert was saying but one simple fact reverberated around his mind; Sally was ill. He had to go and look after her. Without a word, Paul turned and ran out of the surgery.

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	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Martin had finally managed to stop Penhale from prattling by ignoring him and was enjoying the peace and quiet, when they heard someone hammering on the pharmacy door.

'That'll be the paramedics, Doc. I'll go and let them in.'

'Make sure you lock the door behind them. The last thing I need is for some moron to decide to try and fill their prescription themselves.'

Joe disappeared downstairs and Martin checked Mrs Tishell's pulse again, ready to brief the paramedics. However, the clatter of feet on the stairs turned out to be Paul Milligan.

'Milligan? What are you doing here?'

'I came to see if I can help.'

Martin grunted but yielded his place to Paul; he hadn't been able to get anywhere, maybe Paul could. Paul took Sally's hands gently in his and said,

'Sally, it's Paul. Can you hear me?'

There was no response so Paul began to gently rub her hands, saying,

'I'm so sorry about Clive.'

At the mention of her husband's name, Sally shuddered, looked around wildly and burst into tears. Paul put an arm around her shoulders and held her as she cried.

Louisa sighed. She knew that having her plaster removed wasn't urgent but they'd been waiting for over an hour now and she was starting to get impatient. Joan had already made herself unpopular by asking three times how much longer it was going to be. And Peter, who had been asleep, was waking up and would need feeding and changing. Louisa found herself wishing that Martin was with her. They wouldn't have waited an hour past her appointment time if he had been; he would have shouted and pulled rank and she'd be on her way home by now. Thinking about Martin reminded her that Martin had told her to ring Chris Parsons when she arrived. She hadn't wanted to, feeling that it was rude to suggest that the Outpatients staff needed supervision, but now it was starting to seem like a good idea. Taking out her phone, she dialled,

'Parsons.'

'Hi, it's Louisa Glasson here. Martin told me to call you.'

'That's right, you're having your plaster off today. Martin asked me to pop down. Are you in Outpatients?'

'Yes.'

'I'll be right down.'

Five minutes later, Chris Parsons came into the waiting room, exchanged greetings with the receptionist, and walked over to Louisa and Joan,

'Good morning, Louisa, Mrs Norton. How are you?'

'Fine,' said Louisa, smiling.

'Stiff from sitting on these chairs for so long,' said Joan trenchantly.

'Oh?'

'They're running a bit late,' explained Louisa.

'A bit late! We've been here over an hour and they only took the first patient through half an hour ago.'

Chris Parsons' smile disappeared as Joan explained. Standing, he said,

'Excuse me a moment,' and strode over to the receptionist.

Having spoken to her for a couple of minutes, Chris disappeared in the direction of the treatment rooms, scowling.

'Looks as though we've put the cat among the pigeons,' said Joan, pleased.

Louisa wasn't sure that being the instigator of an official rampage was a good thing but she was fed up of waiting so she didn't disagree.

It wasn't until she'd fed Peter and Joan had changed his nappy, that Chris returned. He sat beside Louisa and absent-mindedly played peek-a-boo with Peter whilst talking to them,

'The Senior Registrar phoned in sick at nine o'clock and they had to phone around for a replacement. I've phoned the consultant and she's on her way in, so the queue should start moving more quickly soon.'

'Good,' said Louisa, relieved.

'Nine o'clock's late to be calling in sick, isn't it?' said Joan

'Yes.'

Chris' unusually brief reply spoke volumes and Louisa hoped that the Senior Registrar had a good explanation for being so late phoning in, Chris was clearly annoyed.

Chris commented on Peter's alertness and the conversation turned to children and the rest of the wait was spent with Chris and Joan exchanging anecdotes about the entertaining things young children do. Louisa listened eagerly, charmed by Joan's tales of Martin as a toddler.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Sally Tishell had stopped crying and was responding normally to Martin's questions. She was still in shock but in Martin's opinion, no longer at risk. The paramedics' assessment agreed with Martin's which gave him a higher opinion of their intelligence.

'She shouldn't be left alone but I don't think that she needs to go to hospital,' said the more senior of the paramedics, hoping that he wasn't about to get his ears pinned back by one of Doctor Ellingham's notorious insults.

'I concur. Paul?'

'No, although we need to get someone to stay with her overnight.'

'Shouldn't be a problem, I'm sure the village gossips are all dying to get in here,' said Martin sardonically.

'There was quite a crowd outside,' admitted the paramedic.

'Penhale, go and find one of her friends and bring her in here.'

'Her friends? Um?'

'Try Elizabeth Carell or Sarah James,' suggested Paul quietly.

Penhale's face cleared and he trotted downstairs.

By the time Penhale had found Elizabeth Carell and Martin had explained the situation, making the woman repeat everything back to him so he was sure that she had been listening, it was nearly lunchtime.

Grimly aware of his full surgery and perpetually full appointment book, Martin walked at full tilt back up the hill to the surgery. Going in to the waiting room he was surprised to find it less than half full. Less surprising was the fact that Bert was still there, sat in a chair beside the receptionist's desk, gossiping with Tracey.

'Bert, shouldn't you be getting ready to poison some tourists?'

'No tourists this time of year, Doc. Lunch only available if pre-booked at the moment.'

'Well, I'm sure you've got other things you should be doing.'

'Not really. How's Mrs Tishell?'

'None of your business.'

'Now Doc, I'm just worried about her.'

'Get out.'

Martin glared at Bert until he reluctantly levered himself out of his chair and left. Sighing, Martin wondered if he would ever manage to explain medical confidentiality to Bert.

'Who's next?'

'Mr Evan, doctor, but before you see him, I need to know if you're happy with what I've done.'

'What have you done?'

'I got anyone who wasn't urgent to make another appointment and go home.'

'Yes.'

'What?'

'Yes, I'm happy with what you've done.'

'Pay up then.'

'What?'

'I want my money. Two hours, that's sixteen quid.'

'Here.'

Martin thrust a twenty pound note at her, and turned to his consulting room, saying,

'Mr Evan.'

'Don't you want your…' said Tracey, holding out four pounds. Realising she was addressing the door, Tracey shrugged and put the money back in her pocket.

Martin eventually got home at two-thirty, feeling frayed and hungry. In the kitchen, Louisa was making herself a sandwich. Without thinking, Martin said,

'Why are you eating now? Your schedule requires you to eat at twelve-thirty?'

'What?'

Horrified, Martin tried to back track,

'I mean…um…I mean, with Peter's breast feeding schedule you should be eating earlier than this.'

'I'm sure you're right but that's not what you said. You said 'your schedule'. Do I have a schedule?'

Louisa's voice was sweet and reasonable. Relieved, Martin said,

'I drew up a schedule of meals and activities for you in order to maximise the rate of your recovery.'

'A schedule?'

'Yes.'

Louisa's expression was starting to get stormy and Martin watched her nervously, waiting for a response. Louisa paused and took a deep breath,

'But you decided not to tell me about it. Why?'

'You haven't responded well when I've tried to tell you what to do previously.'

'And why do you think that is?'

'I don't know.'

Martin's expression was completely confused so Louisa decided to try again to explain it to him,

'It's because you don't treat me as an equal.'

'But you aren't my equal. I'm sorry Louisa, but you have to accept that I am far more intelligent than you are and much better educated.'

Louisa stared at him for a moment, speechless with rage, then shouted,

'Get out!'

Martin stood rooted to the spot for a moment then turned and walked away sadly.

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	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

ChapterTwenty-Three

Martin walked blankly down the hill ignoring the villagers who tried to talk to him, barely aware of the chorus of, 'Tosser,' that followed him.  
At the bottom of the hill he turned and walked down the slipway on to the beach. The tide was out and he marched across the beach until he reached the waters edge, then stood looking out to sea. After a few minutes the shock of Louisa's anger started to wear off and Martin found himself wondering why she had been so angry with him when he was simply being logical. Why did she need to bring emotions into everything? Surely it was obvious that he was superior to her?  
Martin stared out to sea until his stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him that he still hadn't had any lunch. Since going back to the cottage was not possible he would have to buy himself something. Martin quickly ran through all the café owners in his mind, matching them to recent surgery visits and grading their hygiene. The villagers were such a germ-ridden disgusting bunch that virtually all of them had been in for treatment. Bert was the only one he hadn't had to treat for an infectious disease within the last six months so he walked up the slipway and made his way up the hill to Bert's restaurant. He ignored the closed sign and walked down the steps, across the terrace and into the kitchen. Bert looked up from the sink and said,

'Afternoon, Doc.'

'Bert. I'll have a sandwich to go.'

'I'm not doing lunches at the moment, Doc. Try Daisy's, they're still open for lunch.'

'No. I'll pay extra.'

Bert was about to refuse but the siren call of extra money was impossible to resist,

'White or brown bread?'

'Wholemeal.'

'I've only got ham or cheese, I'm afraid.'

'No fish?'

'Not for sandwiches, no. If you wanted a main meal, I've got some lovely sea bass, fresh off the boats this morning.'

'No. Ham.'

'Right you are then. One ham on wholemeal coming up. D'you want some salad in it?'

'Yes.'

Bert carried on chatting, ignoring Martin's monosyllabic responses, as he quickly put together the sandwich and wrapped it in foil. Martin paid and left. Alone in the kitchen, Bert took off his apron and hung it up, saying to himself,

'Looks like there's trouble in paradise. Time to pay Louisa a visit.'

Martin carried his sandwich into the kitchen at the surgery and sat down to eat. He was part way through when Paul Milligan came into the kitchen. Paul was too upset about Sally to notice the incongruity of Martin eating in the surgery instead of at home and asked,

'Have you heard anything?'

'What about?'

'Clive Tishell. Have they found his body yet?'

'No.'

'Will they?'

'I don't know. I understand that it depends where the body goes in and what the state of the tide was.'

'But they'll keep looking?'

'Presumably.'

'Don't you know?'

'No.'

'You aren't at all interested, are you, Martin?' said Paul, amazed again by Martin's complete lack of emotional involvement with his patients.

'No.'

Martin finished his sandwich and washed up his plate. He made himself a cup of coffee and went into his consulting room, ignoring Paul, who stayed in the kitchen staring into space.

Martin spent the afternoon struggling to summon up any interest in his patients. Only his Hippocratic Oath stopped him from closing the surgery and going back to the house to try to sort things out with Louisa. His mood was made even worse by several people asking him if he was feeling all right. Ferociously telling them to mind their own business, Martin decided to tell everyone exactly what he thought so he stormed into the waiting room and shouted,

'Silence!'

Once everyone was looking at him he said,

'Anyone who is here to discuss my private life or gossip about Milligan or Tishell or anyone else, leave immediately. This is a doctor's surgery not a knitting circle! And no malingerers or time-wasters either.'

Martin marched back into his consulting room and slammed the door.

Louisa had put Peter down for his nap and was sat staring unhappily into space, when Bert knocked on the door. Louisa opened the door and said,

'Hello, Bert.'

'Hello, Louisa. I was just passing and I thought I'd pop in and see how you were doing.'

Louisa reluctantly opened the door and let Bert in, wishing that she could think of an excuse to get rid of him. Bert automatically went into the kitchen, saying,

'Shall I put the kettle on?'

'I can do that.'

'It's no trouble. You sit down and let me do it. Where's Peter?'

'Asleep.'

'You look a bit weary yourself, if you don't mind me saying?'

'I feel a bit weary. We had a long wait at the hospital and well…'

Bert busied himself with the teapot, waiting for Louisa to continue. When she didn't, he said,

'Nothing worse than queuing for ages. At least your plaster's off now. How does it feel to have the use of both arms again?'

'Good. Though I seem to have lost most of the strength in that arm.'

'I'm sure you'll soon be back to normal. In the meantime, what you need is a pick-me-up and I've got just the thing.'

Bert pulled a paper bag out of his pocket, took out two pieces of chocolate cake, put them on plates and handed one plate to Louisa. Louisa smiled at Bert, thinking that life would be so simple if everything could be fixed with a piece of chocolate cake. Bert poured them each a mug of tea and they ate and drank in silence. After she'd finished eating, Louisa said,

'Thanks, Bert. I'm sorry I'm not being chatty.'

'Now then, girl, you're like the daughter I never had. You don't have to make small talk with me.'

Louisa looked at Bert and burst into tears.

By five o'clock Martin was in a foul mood even by his standards so when Chelsey stomped into the consulting room, sat down and glared at him, he simply glared back in silence. It was left to Paul Milligan to start the session. With a sideways glance at Martin, he said,

'How are you today?'

'Cross.'

'Why are you cross?'

'Because Rachel told Miss Black that I've got head lice and I haven't.'

'Why did she do that?'

'Because I scratched my head a couple of times. She's a stupid liar and I hate her!'

'Who's Rachel?' asked Martin, confused. He thought that he knew all of the children in Chelsey's class but he didn't remember a Rachel.

'She's in year four and she told Miss Black that I scratched all through assembly so I had to bring a note home for Mum.'

As she spoke, Chelsey unconsciously reached up and scratched her head and then her side. Martin went over to Chelsey and gently lifted her hair apart and looked at her scalp,

'Hmm. Take off your top, please.'

Chelsey lifted her school top off and looked at Martin in bewilderment as he walked to the side of her chair and raised her arm so he could look at her side. After a moment he let go of her arm and said,

'You've got chickenpox. That's why you're scratching.'

'Have I?'

'Yes, there's a spot coming up on your stomach. See?'

Chelsey peered down at her stomach where a spot was erupting. She went to scratch it and Martin said,

'Don't scratch. You'll give yourself scars.'

Chelsey dropped her hand to her side and Martin turned to Ian Baker, saying,

'Use calamine lotion to stop the itching and keep her off school until the spots have all scabbed over.'

'Right.'

Ian and Chelsey left and Martin started tidying up the surgery.

Louisa gave Bert a last hug and closed the door. She knew that Bert wasn't very bright but he was one of the kindest people she knew. He had patted her shoulder whilst she cried and had then listened patiently as she had explained what had happened. He hadn't given her any advice, simply saying that she should do what she thought best, but had given her a hug and told her that Martin was lucky to have her. Now, she just had to decide what she should do.

Martin finished tidying up the surgery, wondering how much longer it would be before Pauline was back at work. Reminding himself to visit her tomorrow to assess her symptoms, he closed the filing cabinet and prepared to leave. He would go to Aunt Joan's and stay the night there. He'd have to see about hiring a place in Port Wenn tomorrow. His phone rang and his heart missed a beat when he saw that it was Louisa,

'Ellingham.'

'Martin, it's me.'

'Yes.'

'We need to talk. Can you come over?'

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	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

ChapterTwenty-Four

Martin walked quickly through the village but when he reached the cottage where Louisa, Peter and he were staying he hesitated nervously. He wanted to explain to Louisa but he never knew what to say and seemed to always say the wrong thing. Perhaps Aunty Joan was right, perhaps he and Louisa were too dissimilar to be able to live together. Taking a deep breath, Martin opened the door and went in. Louisa and Peter were in the lounge playing and Martin's heart leapt at the sight of them. Peter saw him and smiled and despite his bad mood, Martin found himself smiling back. Louisa said quietly,

'Thank you for coming straight away.'

'It was no trouble, surgery was over.'

'We need to sort a few things out.'

'Yes.'

'Sit down and I'll try to explain why I was so angry.'

Martin sat down on the sofa and waited in silence. Louisa got up off the floor and sat down beside him, saying,

'I was angry because you said that I wasn't your equal. Why do you think that being more intelligent and better educated makes you better than me?'

Martin looked at Louisa nonplussed. How could being more intelligent and better educated not make him better than her? Confused, he tried to explain,

'Intelligence is what sets us apart from animals so clearly the more intelligent you are the more superior you are. And education teaches us how to apply our intelligence so the better your education, the better you will be able to use your intelligence.'

'I agree with you that intelligence and education are very important but why does having them make you better than someone else?'

'Um…it just does.'

'So those are the only factors that you consider important?'

Sensing a trap, Martin answered warily,

'Yes.'

'So how do people like serial killers fit in? They're often highly intelligent and sometimes very well educated too. Are they superior to me too?'

'Of course not. That's not what I meant. Obviously, things like having a suitable moral code are important too.'

'So, it isn't just intelligence and education, there are social factors too?'

'Well, yes.'

'So, if we include social factors too, do you still think you're better than me?'

'Uh…it depends which social factors you include,' said Martin, stalling.

'Lets include everything.'

'Everything?'

'Everything that makes human beings human, intelligence, education, moral code, emotional maturity, ability to interact with other people, ability to co-operate, sense of humour, empathy, compassion, anything you can think of. Are you still better than me?'

'I don't know,' said Martin, perturbed, 'It's impossible to accurately assess someone across such a wide field, there are too many variables.'

'Yes, there are, Martin. I don't know whether or not I'm better than you, I just know that we're different. You are more intelligent than I am but when it comes to people skills, I'm way ahead of you. Do you see what I'm getting at?'

'Yes. You believe that my criteria for assigning worth are too narrow leading me to make incorrect assessments.'

'Yes.'

'And you believe that I was wrong to assign you lesser worth than myself.'

'Yes.'

'If we expand the criteria for assigning worth as you suggest, then that would certainly be true. As you so correctly stated, your social skills are far superior to my own and you would exceed my scores in some other areas too.'

'So, we're agreed that we're equal?'

'I think that I can accept that as a working hypothesis whilst I collect more data, yes.'

Louisa considered calling him on his qualified statement but decided to leave it until another day. Instead she said,

'Good. Now, why don't you play with Peter while I make supper?'

'Are you sure you can manage? You need to be careful not to over-stress your arm.'

'I'll call you if I need help.'

Louisa disappeared into the kitchen and Martin sat on the floor next to Peter so he could provide him with the maximum developmental opportunity.

Paul Milligan fidgeted around the kitchen at the surgery trying to summon up some enthusiasm for cooking. He'd bought himself some chicken and vegetables but it seemed wrong to be eating without Sally. Sighing, he made himself start peeling vegetables.  
He was just about to put his chicken under the grill when there was a knock at the kitchen door. Paul opened the door to find Joe Penhale outside. Joe was still in uniform despite it being long after his shift would normally have ended. Joe cleared his throat and said,

'Doctor Milligan, can I come in?'

'Of course. Would you like a drink?'

'No thank you, Sir. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may.'

'Certainly. Let me just turn these down.'

Paul turned the heat down under his vegetables and sat down opposite Penhale, saying,

'What do you need to know?'

'Where were you last night, from eleven o'clock onwards?'

'I was here.'

'Is there anybody who can verify that?'

'No, I was alone and I wasn't called out at all.'

'And did anyone call on you?'

'No.'

'You're sure?'

'Yes.'

'So you didn't see Clive Tishell at all last night?'

'No, the only time I've ever met Clive Tishell was when he came to the surgery yesterday.'

'When he hit you.'

'Yes.'

'You didn't feel like getting some revenge then?'

'No. I'm a doctor, I heal people not hurt them.'

'Even though he'd hurt you?'

'I've seen the effects of violence too many times to believe that it ever helps.'

'Have you, Sir?'

'Yes, both as a junior doctor in casualty and as a practising psychologist in my consulting room. I'm not sure that I could ever bring myself to deliberately hurt someone else.'

'You'd be amazed what people will do if their lives are threatened. Is that what happened? Did Clive attack you and you killed him in self defence?'

'No, I didn't see Clive last night. The last time I saw him, he was being dragged out of the surgery by Ian Baker.'

'That's what you say but can you prove it?'

'No but can you prove that I did?'

Penhale looked at Paul Milligan in frustration, the interview was not going as planned. The young doctor was so gentle and easy going that Penhale had been certain that he'd crack under questioning. He'd have to find some witnesses, then he'd be bound to crack. Getting to his feet, Penhale said,

'Don't leave town.'

'I won't,' said Paul calmly.

Penhale left, doing his best to swagger but failing dismally. Paul waited until he was sure that Penhale wasn't coming back, then turned off the cooker and sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands, desperately trying to decide what to do.

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	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

ChapterTwenty-Five

Martin finished washing up and dried his hands thoroughly, making sure that the towel was clean first. He went into the lounge and sat down next to Louisa, intending to read one of his medical journals, but suddenly realised that he had forgotten about the repeat prescriptions. Resisting the temptation to swear, as Peter was old enough to add the words to his future vocabulary, he said,

'I have to go back to the surgery.'

'Can't it wait until tomorrow?' asked Louisa, disappointed.

'No.'

Martin picked up his bag and left.

Paul had forced himself to let his brain rule his emotions and had therefore not gone down to the pharmacy to see how Sally was, even though he was desperately worried about her. The decision had left him feeling wrung out and annoyed, he should be able to visit a friend in trouble without it being construed as evidence of guilt. Unfortunately, it was clear that Penhale would view a visit as suspicious and there was no possibility of not being seen, this was Port Wenn, after all, the gossips would spread the word before he'd been at the pharmacy for five minutes. He wasn't particularly concerned about Penhale's ludicrous suspicions per se but he was concerned about what Sally would think of them. Surely she wouldn't believe that he could ever do something like that? Taking a deep breath, he forced his emotions back under control. As a doctor, he could legitimately ring up and ask her friend how she was and say that he was available if she needed to talk and that would have to do for tonight. Sighing, Paul turned the vegetables back on and put the chicken under the grill.

He was half way through eating when he heard the surgery door opening. Going through, he found Martin in the surgery, turning the computer back on.

'Problem, Martin?'

'Repeat prescriptions.'

Paul watched as Martin impatiently clicked the mouse on nothing, trying to make the computer speed up. Noticing that the printer was loaded with ordinary paper, not blank prescriptions, he said,

'Where do you keep the prescription paper?'

Muttering under his breath, Martin turned away from the computer and opened the bottom drawer of the desk. Finding it empty, he went to the store cupboard and took out a new box. When he returned he found Paul sat at the computer, clicking through the screens until he got to the repeat prescriptions page. Once Martin had loaded the printer up, Paul said,

'I'll check them, you sign them.'

'Are you up to date with recent pharmacology developments?' asked Martin dubiously.

'Yes, I need to know about general medicines because so many of my patients have multiple prescriptions.'

'All right.'

Paul and Martin worked quickly through the repeat prescriptions and soon had a neat pile, signed and ready to be filled.

'Are you going to leave them here for people to take into Wadebridge?' asked Paul.

'Why?'

'Sally Tishell may not be well enough to do them.'

Martin looked at Paul in annoyance as he realised that he was right, because of that damn fool Clive Tishell getting himself murdered, he was likely to be without a pharmacist in the village for several weeks. Swearing, he took out his phone and dialled,

'Hello?'

'Doctor Ellingham here. I need to talk to Mrs Tishell.'

'Yes, Doctor. Hold on.'

Martin waited impatiently as the sound of muted conversation came down the line followed by Mrs Tishell's voice saying,

'Doctor Ellingham, how nice of you to call.'

'How are you feeling?'

'Not too bad. Very tired and anxious though.'

'Have they found the body?'

There was a quaver in Mrs Tishell's voice as she replied,

'Not yet but they'll go out again tomorrow.'

'Have you eaten?'

'Yes. Elizabeth made a casserole and I had a little.'

'Good. Are you drinking plenty as well?'

'Yes, Doctor.'

'Good. Make sure you keep warm.'

'Yes, Doctor.'

'I've got the repeat prescriptions here. What do you want me to do with them?'

'I…I don't know.'

'It would be extremely useful if you could manage to do them.'

There was a pause and Martin was about to speak again, when he was stopped by an indignant Paul,

'Martin! You can't put pressure on her like that! For goodness sake man, her husband's dead!'

'I'm not putting pressure on her! She may prefer to work to keep her mind off things.'

'Why not ask her that then, instead of implying that she'll be letting you down if she doesn't?'

'What? Utter nonsense, I was just telling the truth, it would be much easier for my patients if she could do them.'

'Yes but she's had a severe shock and needs to be cared for. Her mental state may be far too fragile to cope with any pressure,' said Paul furiously.

He snatched the phone from Martin, took a deep breath and said,

'Sally, Paul Milligan here. What Martin meant to say was that we can bring the prescriptions over if you think that keeping busy will help. Otherwise, we'll keep them at the surgery and people can get them filled elsewhere.'

'Hello, Paul. Actually, I think keeping busy might help. I…I'm finding the waiting rather difficult.'

'Yes, it must be. I'm sorry.'

'I…um…'

Hearing the tears in her voice, Paul longed to be able to make her feel better but there was nothing he could do. Clearing his throat, he said,

'We'll bring them right over.'

He said goodbye, then hung up and passed the phone back to Martin who was looking pleased.

'You were right, she wants to keep busy. I said we'd drop them over now.'

'Good.'

Martin picked up the prescriptions and they left the surgery together.

Five minutes later, they were inside the pharmacy talking to Sally Tishell whilst her friend Elizabeth hovered protectively. Paul watched Sally eagerly, drinking in the sight of her, even though she was very pale and he could tell from the way that she was holding her head that her neck was bothering her despite the collar. They had talked at length about her collar and he had concluded that she had mixture of physical and psychological issues. Before Clive's disappearance he had been hopeful that she might be willing to have treatment, though he had decided that it would be unethical to treat her himself in the light of his feelings for her. Martin thrust the prescriptions into Sally's hands and turned to leave. Paul hesitated, wanting to find some way to help her, and said,

'Sally, do you want to open for reduced hours tomorrow?'

Sally turned a slightly confused face towards him and he continued,

'You could open from eleven to twelve and from four to five, for prescriptions only, say.'

'That's a good idea,' said Elizabeth, encouragingly.

Sally hesitated and then said,

'Yes.'

Martin and Paul left and went their separate ways and Sally Tishell picked up the prescriptions and got to work, grateful for anything that would take away the horrible image of Clive's body being battered against the rocks by the sea.

When Martin got back to the cottage, Louisa was feeding Peter and the sight of his son contentedly suckling whilst Louisa gently smiled up at him, filled him with wonder.

'All done?' asked Louisa.

'Yes.'

'Good.'

'Is your arm hurting?'

'No. It feels a bit tired but it's not hurting.'

'Good. When do you see the physiotherapist?'

'A week tomorrow at eleven-thirty. You'll be in the middle of surgery so I'll get Joan to take me.'

'Good.'

Peter finished feeding and Martin took him from Louisa, saying,

'Shall I bath him?'

'Yes please, Martin.'

Martin spent the rest of the evening bathing Peter and reading to him until it was time for his last feed. Once he was asleep, Martin and Louisa sat in the lounge together. Martin started reading a medical journal and Louisa started going through the school's budget for next term.  
Once she was sure that Peter was asleep, Louisa put the budget away and turned to look at Martin speculatively. He was completely focussed on what he was reading and looked completely cerebral. Smiling mischievously, she decided that it was time to bring the animal out of him. Without speaking, she stood up and casually removed all of her clothes, dropping them on the sofa beside Martin one by one. By the time she was naked, Martin had stopped reading and was staring intently at her. Without speaking, she held out her hand to Martin and led him upstairs.

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	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Martin was in a strange mood as he walked towards the surgery and it took him some time to identify it. Eventually he realised that he was happy, deeply and completely happy. Louisa was still with him and still loved and desired him and his son seemed to be bonding with him. Of course, Peter bonding with him was entirely instinctual on his part but Peter also enjoyed playing with him. As he got older he'd no doubt become more discriminating so it was essential that Martin discover the best games for them to play. Martin made a mental note to buy some books on the educational benefits of different types of play.

Martin's feeling of well being suffered a setback when he walked into the waiting room to find two women arguing beside Pauline's desk,

'I rang up last week and got given the nine o'clock appointment!'

'Well, I put myself in the diary yesterday and there was nothing written in for nine o'clock.'

'So? I bet it's on the computer.'

One of the women went round the desk and bent to turn on the computer. Horrified, Martin shouted,

'Stop! Leave the computer alone!'

Both women glared at Martin and he continued,

'Did you wash your hands before leaving the house?'

'Of course I did,' said one of the women, indignantly.

The other woman looked embarrassed and sidled out from behind the desk, saying,

'I'll…um…just wait to be called.'

'Go and wash your hands first.'

Grumbling, the woman disappeared into the toilet. Martin started towards the consulting room but the first woman said,

'So, who do you want to see first? People who are on the computer or people who are in the diary?'

'What?'

'Some people booked with Pauline a few days ago so their appointments are on the computer but since she's been sick people have been writing their own names in the appointments diary. Trouble is, no one's been checking that they match.'

Swearing under his breath, Martin pulled the appointments diary towards him. A quick glance confirmed what the woman had said, a few of the entries were in Pauline's handwriting but most were not and many of them were not legible as people seemed to have been signing the page rather than writing their name. Martin's earlier happiness vanished as he acquired yet another mess to sort out.  
Booting up the computer and logging on, he discovered that it was even worse than he'd been told, some people had booked themselves in twice or three times and most of the appointments from the computer appointments page had not been copied over into the book. Exasperated, Martin yelled,

'Milligan!'

Paul came downstairs and said calmly,

'Yes, Doctor Ellingham?'

Recalled to a sense of propriety by Paul's words, Martin said,

'Doctor Milligan, when do you expect Pauline to be able to return to work?'

'In a week to ten days.'

'That long?'

'Yes,' said Paul, unwilling to elaborate in front of an interested crowd. In fact, Pauline had been handling the stress very well but she needed to talk to someone who wouldn't tell her to shut up or get upset as well. And she needed time to process what had happened.

Martin grimaced, being without Pauline was very inconvenient. Paul looked at the appointments book and blinked as he tried to decipher it.

'We need to hire a temporary receptionist,' said Paul.

'I don't have time to mess around interviewing the village idiots trying to find out if any of them possess even rudimentary intelligence,' said Martin, frustrated.

Paul waited for the outraged responses from the villagers to die down, then said,

'Why don't I hire someone? It's only for a few days, after all.'

'Yes,' said Martin, immediately turning away to get out the patient notes for those whose names he could decipher.

Paul turned to face the waiting villagers and said,

'Could you let everyone know that we need a temporary receptionist for a few days. They need to be computer literate and have a good telephone manner. They need to come to the surgery at lunchtime today, I'll be starting interviews at twelve-fifteen.'

Paul returned to his consulting room confident that the news would spread within minutes.

Martin was halfway through his surgery when his mobile phone rang,

'Ellingham.'

'Blackstone, General Medical Council, here.'

'Yes?'

'Just ringing to let you know that you'll be needed to make a statement about some chap you're treating, a Daniel Steel.'

'Why?'

'Turns out that the locum who sat in for Jeffries made several mistakes, two of them fatal and the PCT have referred the matter to us.'

'You'll need to talk to Milligan as well, then. He's counselling Steel.'

'Paul Milligan?'

'Yes.'

'Right. Thank you.'

'Anything else?'

'No, I'll let you know when you need to come up.'

Martin said goodbye and hung up, confirmed in his belief that locums were far more trouble than they were worth.

Paul Milligan reluctantly concluded that he wasn't going to be able to see Sally until later. He had expected two or three people to turn up for the temporary receptionist's job, instead there were eight people waiting. Reiterating the need for computer literacy brought the number down to six and asking one girl if she was over sixteen left him with five people to interview. Sighing, Paul took their names and started the interviews.  
An hour and a half later, Paul sat and ate a sandwich as he reviewed his notes. Only two of the people were really suitable, one a forty-two year-old woman and the other an eighteen year-old man. The man would normally have been helping on his dad's fishing boat but he'd broken his arm and Martin had insisted that he stayed off the boat until he'd finished his physiotherapy, saying that the work was too hard for a partially healed arm. He had three more weeks until he could fish again and just wanted to earn some money. The woman was one of many villagers who worked all summer at one of the hotels but was out of work from October to April. Both were friendly and computer literate. Paul was about to mentally toss a coin when he thought about Martin and his rudeness. Nodding to himself, he picked up his phone and dialled,

'Hello.'

'Hello, is that Mrs Ryan?'

'Yes.'

'It's Doctor Milligan here. I'm phoning to offer you the temporary receptionist's job.'

'I got it?'

'Yes.'

'Thank you, Doctor Milligan. When do I start?'

'Can you start this afternoon? At two?'

'Yes, I'll be there.'

They said goodbye and Paul spent the rest of his lunch break ringing the others to tell them that they hadn't got the job.

Joe Penhale finished writing his report with a sigh of relief. He loved being a policeman but wished that there was less paperwork. Filing his weekly traffic report in the relevant folder, Joe decided to go out on patrol. Checking that he had everything he needed on his belt, he put on his uniform jacket, hat and gloves and left the police station.  
Striding down the hill, he looked carefully around him, hoping to spot a miscreant in the act but everything was peaceful. He paused at the school, gazing sadly at the still damaged building.  
His superior officers had asked whether he could have done anything different that day and he had thought long and hard about it and had realised that he should have gone back to the police station and got his police vehicle. Then he would have caught Sam Oakwood and nobody would have been hurt. His superiors had suggested that he shouldn't have chased Sam at all but what was the point of being a police officer if you let people drive off in stolen vehicles without trying to stop them? Joe shook his head, determined that thieves wouldn't get away with their crimes in his manor.  
Walking on, he came to the pharmacy and felt another wave of sadness and guilt come over him. Clive Tishell had been murdered, poor Sally Tishell was grieving and he was no closer to proving that Milligan had done it. With a renewed feeling of determination, Joe straightened his belt and went into the pub again. Going up to the bar, he said,

'Just a few more questions, Sir.'

John, the landlord groaned, saying,

'Not again, Joe.'

'PC Penhale whilst I'm on duty, if you don't mind.'

The landlord rolled his eyes and said,

'Just get on with it, would you? I've got customers to serve.'

'The night Clive Tishell was murdered, what time was it when you threw him out?'

'I told you, it was about nine-fifteen.'

'About nine-fifteen? Nearer to nine ten or nine twenty?'

'I haven't a clue. Like I told you before, it could easily have been a few minutes either side. I don't keep an eye on the clock that early in the evening. I only know it was close to nine-fifteen because my daughter came to say goodnight a few minutes later and her bedtime's nine thirty.'

Frustrated, Penhale moved on,

'Was there anyone outside when you threw him out?'

'Not that I saw.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

'You didn't perhaps see a vaguely familiar figure in the distance?'

'It was pitch black. There could have been twenty people in the distance and I wouldn't have seen any of them.'

'All right. Who was in here last night?'

'The usual crowd.'

'I'm going to need a list?'

'What for? You're in here often enough.'

Joe lowered his voice and leant across the bar,

'The thing is, John, I need to know if a particular person was in here, someone who might have a reason for wanting Clive Tishell out of the way.'

'Oh, right. You mean Rob Lewis. Yes, he was in here that night.'

'What? Why does Rob Lewis want Clive Tishell out of the way?'

'Because of what happened at that football match.'

'What football match?'

'It was a few years ago now. We were playing away at Delabole, Clive and Rob went for the same ball and somehow Rob's leg got broken.'

'Well, accidents happen. Particularly in a competitive sport like football.'

'Except that they were on the same team and Rob had just started going out with Clive's ex-girlfriend.'

'Were any charges brought?'

'No, Clive insisted that it was an accident and the other players weren't sure. But Rob's always insisted it was deliberate. He's always sworn that he'd get Clive back for it one day.'

'Where's Rob Lewis now?'

'Sat over there,' said John, 'by the slot machine.'

Joe nodded at John and walked over to Rob Lewis and said,

'Mr Lewis?'

Rob Lewis turned at the sound of his voice, froze for a second and then ran as fast as he could towards the side door.

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	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Joe Penhale ran after Rob Lewis, catching him just before he reached the side door. Rob Lewis turned and aimed a clumsy punch at Joe's face. Joe ducked and Rob's fist hit his shoulder. Joe grappled with him, turning him round and pinning him against the wall. Rob Lewis continued to struggle so Joe grabbed the handcuffs from his belt and after a further struggle, managed to cuff him. Rob continued to writhe for a few seconds before finally accepting that he'd been caught. Once he was still, Penhale said,

'You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer. You have the right to remain silent…'

Rob stayed silent as Penhale read him his rights and only spoke when Penhale said,'

'And I shall be questioning you concerning murder too.'

'What! Who?'

'Clive Tishell.'

'I never touched him.'

'Then why did you run?'

'I well…um…I thought you were someone else.'

The weak reply made Penhale even more suspicious and he frog-marched Rob out of the pub, saying,

'You're coming to the station with me.'

John watched Rob being hustled out of the pub with a pleased smile; that was one problem dealt with. Just to make sure, he picked up his phone and dialled,

'Aunty Vi, you'll never guess what just happened…'

Joe marched Rob Lewis towards the station, deflecting people's curious questions with a stern,

'Police business. Make way, please.'

By the time he reached the police station, a crowd had gathered, all busily speculating,

'I heard he set the pub on fire.'

'No, he's been poaching, that's what I heard.'

'No, he's been snatching tourists handbags.'

'At this time of year? There aren't any tourists around.'

Vi joined the crowd, delighted to be able to fill them in,

'I've just got off the phone to our John and he saw it all. Apparently, he tried to run off and then hit Joe Penhale.'

'No!'

'I wonder what he's done then?'

'Why's he got to have done anything?'

'He ran from Joe Penhale, he must have a reason.'

The crowd considered this for a moment and then there was a murmur of agreement. Joe was by no means hard to outwit so Rob Lewis must have had a pressing reason to have run at the sight of him. Vi decided that it was time to make sure that Joe Penhale had some witnesses to any discoveries he might make (particularly since John had been sure that there were discoveries to make),

'Maybe he's got counterfeit money in his pockets?' she said.

An excited murmur ran through the crowd,

'He spends hours out in his shed,' piped up one of Rob's neighbours helpfully.

'And his garden's nothing to write home about,' pointed out another.

'Maybe we should get Penhale to check his wallet?' suggested Vi.

'Good idea,' said one of the nosiest women in Port Wenn, 'Penhale will probably want to strip search him too and we could stay as witnesses so Rob can't say that there was any police brutality.'

'Police brutality! With Joe Penhale? Police imbecility, more like.'

Vi led half a dozen villagers into the police station where Joe was painstakingly writing Rob's name and address on the arrest record. He looked up as they came in and said,

'You can't come in here.'

'We came in case you need any witnesses,' said Vi innocently, 'We heard you've arrested him for passing counterfeit money so we thought you'd want witnesses when you searched him.'

Joe hesitated. Half of him longed to throw them out but the fact was that he did need witnesses to anything he found, otherwise a clever defence lawyer would just say that he had planted the evidence and it would be his word against the perp's. Joe looked at the concerned citizens in front of him; they were all respectable elderly women whose word would stand up in court. Making his mind up, he said,

'I'm glad to see the community joining hands with the police. If you ladies would just stand over there, I'll search Mister Lewis now.'

Rob Lewis gritted his teeth as Penhale emptied his pockets into a tray, knowing what was coming. After finding the usual wallet, keys and loose change in his trousers, Joe put his hand into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out several small bags full of a white powder. Shocked, Joe and the women stared at each other in silence for a moment, then Vi said,

'You evil bastard! What is that? Cocaine? Heroin?'

Rob Lewis glared at her but didn't reply. Joe finished going through Rob's jacket and found several more small bags of powder. Hands shaking, he quickly put the bags in an evidence bag and sealed it, saying,

'I'll have to send it off to the lab. In the meantime, I'd better call the inspector.'

'Right. You tell the inspector that we'll all stand up in court and say what you found.'

'Thank you.'

The women left and Joe locked Rob Lewis in Port Wenn's only cell and picked up the phone to call the inspector.

When Martin came back to the surgery after lunch he was annoyed to find someone sitting at Pauline's desk,

'What do you think you're doing? Get out from behind there.'

'My job. Doctor Milligan hired me to be your receptionist just until Pauline's back on her feet.'

'Right…um…good. Sort out the appointments diary.'

'Yes, Doctor.'

'And get the patient notes for this afternoon's surgery out.'

'Yes, Doctor.'

Martin strode into his consulting room leaving Mrs Ryan looking nervously at the filing cabinet containing the patient notes.

Half an hour later, Martin was annoyed to find her in his consulting room between patients,

'What do you want?'

'Mister Baker rang. He wants to know if he should bring Chelsey into the surgery at five o'clock as usual.'

'No. Tell him we'll come to him at…what time is my last appointment today?'

'Five-thirty but I can change it to five if Chelsey's not coming in.'

'Yes. Tell Baker that we'll be there at five-thirty and tell Doctor Milligan about the change too.'

'Yes, Doctor.'

She left and Martin got back to work, reflecting that if only more people had as much common sense as Ian Baker his life would be so much easier.

Martin finished his surgery by five-fifteen and was able to sign the repeat prescriptions before Paul came down. As they walked towards the harbour he said,

'We need to check up on Mrs Tishell after we've been to the Baker's.'

'Yes,' agreed Paul, glad that Martin was ridiculously unobservant, as he was unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. He had been longing to see Sally all day. Not only was he worried about her, he found that he missed her in an almost physical way, as if she were an extra limb that he needed to feel complete. Just the thought of being in the same room as her was making his heart race.

They arrived at the Baker's cottage and went in. Ian Baker led them into the lounge and they sat down. Chelsey turned to Doc Martin and smiled, saying,

'Hello.'

'Hello. How are you feeling?'

'Itchy.'

Martin walked over to the sofa where Chelsey was sat and bent over her, saying,

'Lift up your top.'

Chelsey obediently raised her sweatshirt and T-shirt and Martin checked her spots.

'Hmm, do you have spots on your legs?'

'Yes, there are five on my left leg and seven on my right leg.'

Paul smiled at Chelsey's precision but Martin didn't even notice, continuing to examine her,

'Are you using calamine lotion to help with the itching?'

'The pink stuff?'

'Yes.'

'Yes but it only stops the itching for a minute. Can't you make the itching stop?'

'No. Keep using the calamine lotion. The itching will stop once the spots scab over.'

'When will that be?'

'A few days.'

'That's ages!'

Chelsey glared at Martin, willing him to do something to stop her itching. Oblivious, Martin said,

'How are you feeling otherwise?'

'Okay.'

Martin turned to Ian Baker, who said,

'She's been better today. More herself.'

'Good. Has she eaten?'

'Yes.'

'Is she sleeping any better?'

'Yes. She still has nightmares sometimes but it's not as bad as it was.'

'Good.'

Martin turned back to Chelsey and said,

'Any questions?'

'Can you stay for tea?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'I'm having tea with Miss Glasson.'

'Can I have tea with you?'

'No. You might give Peter chickenpox.'

Chelsey subsided and Martin walked to the door, saying,

'We'll come at the same time tomorrow.'

'Right,' said Ian.

Once the front door had closed, Martin said,

'Did Blackstone get hold of you?'

Paul blinked slightly at the change of subject but answered calmly,

'Yes and he asked me to say how much they appreciate your willingness to testify.'

'Why? The man's incompetent.'

'They thought that you might feel awkward testifying against one of your old classmates.'

'Is it one of my old classmates?' asked Martin, indifferently.

'Yes, John Swallow.'

'What? That can't be right.'

'Blackstone seemed quite certain.'

'They must have got him mixed up with another John Swallow.'

'Why do you say that? Isn't he a GP?'

'The John Swallow I knew isn't anything; he died in a car crash over twenty years ago.'

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	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Paul looked at Martin blankly for a moment, then said,

'You'd better ring Blackstone.'

'Yes.'

They carried on walking in silence and after a couple of minutes they reached they pharmacy. The door was locked so Martin knocked loudly. After a minute, Mrs Tishell came to the door and peered through before letting them in,

'Doctor Ellingham, Doctor Milligan, what can I do for you?'

'I've got tomorrow's repeat prescriptions,' said Martin, handing the pile to Mrs Tishell.

'And we wanted to see how you are,' said Paul, resisting the temptation to pull Sally into his arms. Instead he forced himself to conduct a clinical examination of her. Sally was pale and looked very tired but otherwise seemed all right physically. She met his eyes sadly and said,

'I don't know really. I just wish that they'd find him, then at least I'd know.'

'They still haven't found him?' said Martin incredulously.

'No, they went out again but he wasn't where he ought to be…if…if he went in where they said he did, that is. And it hasn't been stormy so…'

Sally trailed off helplessly, trying to hold back her tears. Paul put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed gently, saying,

'Is someone staying with you?'

'Yes, my friends have been very good. Sue had to pop home to make tea but she's coming back later.'

'Good. Is there anything we can do?'

'No. I just want them to find him.'

'Have you eaten today?' asked Martin, looking critically at her.

'Yes, Doctor Ellingham.'

'And are you drinking plenty?'

'Yes, my friends keep putting the kettle on.'

'Good. Call if you feel that you aren't coping,' said Martin.

'Or if you need someone to talk to,' said Paul.

They had turned to leave when something Sally said registered with Paul,

'Sally, what are you doing about food tonight?'

'I was going to get myself some soup, I'm not really hungry.'

'Did you eat a meal at midday?' demanded Martin.

'No,' admitted Sally.

'You need to maintain a balanced diet. Make yourself a proper meal.'

'Yes, Doctor Ellingham,' said Sally, trying to remember what she had in her cupboards.

'Why don't I stay and help?' suggested Paul.

'Could you? That would be very kind.'

Martin left and Paul followed Sally upstairs to her kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, Paul busied himself with checking the contents of Sally's fridge and cupboards,

'There's some ham in the fridge or sausages?'

'Not sausages,' said Sally, shuddering, 'and I'm not really in the mood for ham either.'

Paul moved over to the freezer and started looking through it,

'There's some mince or there are some fishcakes. Otherwise, it seems to be fish, which would need defrosting first.'

'I don't know,' said Sally, helplessly, her voice quavering.

Paul turned round and seeing the pain in Sally's eyes, automatically opened his arms to her. Sally burst into tears and flung herself into his arms.

Martin let himself into the cottage and was surprised to find it completely quiet. Putting his medical bag in its place, he walked through to the lounge and then stopped dead. Louisa and Peter were lying on the floor together and for one horrible moment he thought that something had happened to them. However, a superficial examination revealed that they were asleep. As he bent over them, Louisa snored and Peter gurgled and wriggled. Kneeling beside Louisa, Martin reached out and touched her cheek, saying,

'Louisa, you need to wake up.'

Louisa grumbled in her sleep and slowly opened her eyes,

'Martin?'

'You fell asleep on the floor.'

Louisa levered herself up, wincing as her muscles protested,

'Ouch.'

'Something wrong?'

'Just stiff. I'm too old to sleep on the floor.'

'Yes.'

Louisa looked round frantically, saying,

'Where's Peter?'

'On his play mat.'

Louisa looked at Peter, peacefully asleep, one hand holding his teddy bear and tried to calm down. Taking a deep breath she said,

'I'm sorry, Martin. I was playing with him and I was trying to encourage him to roll over so I lay down beside him and I fell asleep.'

'It would probably be best not to lie down with him when you're tired. Most accidents involving babies or young children are due to negligent parenting.'

'Are you saying that I'm a negligent parent?'

'No, I was just pointing out the undesirability of falling asleep when Peter is not in a secure location.'

'I already know that!' said Louisa furiously.

'Well, there's no need to be so emotional about it.'

'Emotional! I'd rather be emotional than patronising and offensive!'

Realising that she was shaking with rage, Louisa brushed past Martin, grabbed her coat and handbag and stormed out of the front door slamming it behind her.  
Bewildered, Martin watched her march down the street, wondering why telling her she was being emotional had made her so angry. He had simply stated a fact. If only everyone were logical, his life would be so much easier.

Joe Penhale was feeling a warm glow of contentment as he walked into the pub. The inspector had been very pleased with him for arresting Rob Lewis and had even complimented him on having the presence of mind to make sure that he had witnesses present when he'd searched Lewis. They had known that cocaine was coming into the area via one of the ports but the coastguard had been concentrating on the larger harbours. After the execution of a search warrant had netted them half a kilo of what they were almost certain was cocaine from Rob's shed, they had questioned Rob for three hours and he had crumbled, giving up the time and place of his next delivery. The coastguard and police were busy setting up a joint operation and the inspector had mentioned the possibility of a commendation for him. The only blot on the landscape was Rob Lewis' vehement denial of any involvement with Clive Tishell's death. However, even the inspector agreed that given their past history, Clive would have been certain to turn him in if he'd found out about the drugs, which gave Rob Lewis a strong motive for murder. The inspector had taken Rob Lewis back to Truro with him and was going to question him more in the morning.  
Joe's sense of wellbeing was increased by his reception at the pub. John smiled at him and said,

'Congratulations, Officer.'

'Just doing my job,' said Joe, gratified.

Several of the regulars gathered round and before Joe knew it, he'd been bought a pint and was being praised for his bravery.

Jane Baker hurried through the hospital determined to finally spend a few minutes with her best friend. She'd hardly seen Susan since the tragedy at the school. They'd spoken and emailed but she'd been spending all of her free time with Chelsey and Emily. Today, for the first time since the tragedy, Chelsey was having tea with a friend so Jane had spent a companionable hour alone with Emily then left for work half an hour early. Susan was currently on lates, so as long as there wasn't an emergency, they could chat whilst Susan worked. As she walked, Jane reflected that it would be nice to talk to someone from outside Port Wenn. Much as she loved the village it could feel a bit claustrophobic at times, particularly when the gossips were in full flight. The supposed love triangle between Clive, Sally and Paul had sparked speculation as wide-ranging as it was offensive. Jane had known Sally Tishell all her life and found the ill-natured gossip infuriating. Susan had grown up in Exeter and trained there, coming to Truro immediately afterwards so was completely divorced from Port Wenn and it's shenanigans. Susan and Jane had worked in the children's ward together when they had first qualified and had been friends ever since.  
Jane walked on to Delabole Ward, finding Susan doing observations on a patient. Jane waited until she had finished then said,

'Busy?'

'Got to do obs on a couple more. Walk and talk?'

Jane nodded and they chatted happily as Susan worked, pausing to chat to the patients as they reached each one. As they reached the last side ward, Susan said,

'Time for our man of mystery.'

'Man of mystery?'

'The police picked him up on the moors a couple of nights ago, stark naked and very drunk. Refuses to say who he is.'

They went into the side ward and Jane stopped dead, saying,

'That's no man of mystery, that's Clive Tishell!'

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	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Clive Tishell stared at Jane Baker like a rabbit caught in the headlights. As Jane saw the guilt and consternation in his eyes, the slight sympathy that she'd been feeling evaporated. For a moment she'd wondered if Clive had had a breakdown but it was clear that he was fully compos mentis. Marching up to his bed, she said,

'Have you been enjoying being a man of mystery?'

'I…um…it wasn't like that,' said Clive, guiltily.

'Really? I suppose it didn't occur to you that your wife might be worried about you?'

'She asked me for a divorce!'

'So that's a good reason to leave your clothes at the cliff edge and let everyone think you were dead, is it?'

'I…that isn't why I did it. I just wanted to make a fresh start,' said Clive, plaintively.

'By taking off all your clothes and dancing naked on Bodmin Moor?' asked Susan, incredulously.

Clive squirmed,

'It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.'

'Right. How much had you had to drink?'

'I'm not sure. I know I had seven pints of cider but I had some shots as well.'

'You're lucky to be alive.'

Clive shrugged indifferently and Jane realised that he wasn't just being a jackass, Clive was very depressed. Softening her tone, she said,

'There are plenty of other women. I'm sure you'll soon find someone new.'

'I don't want someone new; I want Sally.'

'Then you'll have to convince her to take you back, won't you?'

'Do you think she might?'

'I don't know. She's going to be pretty angry with you for letting her think you were dead. They've had the boats out every day, looking for your body.'

Clive groaned,

'I never meant for that to happen. Why'd they do that?'

'Joe Penhale found your clothes with blood on them by the edge of the cliff and reckoned that someone had attacked you and pushed you off.'

'I walked into a lamppost and had a nose bleed, that's all. Why'd he think I was attacked?'

'Because of the argument you had with Doctor Milligan to start with and then they found Rob Lewis selling drugs, so they thought he'd killed you to stop you from turning him in.'

'Rob Lewis has been selling drugs? Well, I always thought he was no good but I never realised he was that much of a bastard.'

'So, anyway, Sally thinks that you're dead so you'd better get in touch with her straight away.'

'Was she upset?' asked Clive, eagerly.

Jane's earlier exasperation returned and she said, acerbically,

'What do you think?'

Clive opened his mouth to press her for details but she turned away from him, saying,

'I have to go. Bye, Susan. Get well soon, Mr Tishell.'

Jane walked rapidly away, pulling out her phone as she walked.

Louisa sat on the rocks and listened to the sea waiting for her temper to subside. She knew that Martin couldn't help being tactless and insensitive, it was just the way he was. Unfortunately, she was not secure enough to ignore it. Not yet, anyway. The counselling sessions she was having with Paul Milligan were really helping and they'd moved beyond the tragedy at the school and he was helping her come to terms with the inadequate parenting she'd received as a child. Louisa bit back a smile as she realised that she was using the politically correct phraseology that she had to use at school. Basically, her parents had been rubbish. Her mum had come and gone as she pleased, handing her over to anyone willing to have her, before eventually leaving the village for good. Her dad had been loving but completely ruled by his gambling addiction. Paul had helped her to see that none of this had been her fault and that she didn't need to let it rule her life. They had also talked about Martin and Paul had suggested that Martin would always be extremely logical, even if he eventually did have counselling and Louisa had realised that he was right. Martin was an incredibly logical thinker and always would be. He might eventually learn to express his emotions but his fundamental character would not change.  
Louisa sighed as her temper subsided. Perhaps if she appealed to his logical side they could find a way to communicate without arguing all the time. Standing up, she brushed off her clothes and made her way back to the cottage. Inside, she found Martin in the kitchen, eating. There was no sign of Peter but Martin had the baby monitor with him so he was obviously in bed. The smell of food made her stomach rumble and she said,

'Is there any for me?'

'Yes, it's in the oven.'

'Thank you.'

Louisa took the plate out of the oven and sat down to eat. Martin didn't speak but she was aware of him shooting sidelong glances at her. Once they'd both finished eating, she helped Martin tidy up then said,

'Martin, I want us to be together for a very long time but if we're going to be, we need to learn to communicate more effectively.'

Martin swallowed nervously but said,

'All right. What did you have in mind?'

'I think the first thing we need to do is accept how different we are.'

'I know how different we are.'

'Yes, but knowing something and accepting it are two different things.'

Martin looked sceptical but merely said,

'Go on.'

'I'm trying to accept that you are very logical and that you always say what you think. You need to accept that I will sometimes be very emotional, not because I'm a woman but because that's just how I am.'

'In fact, Louisa you are more emotional because of your hormones. Women…'

'Martin! Am I going to stop being a woman any time soon?'

'No, well not unless you opt for a sex change which I wouldn't recommend in your case as you don't seem to be suffering from any gender issues.'

'I'm not, I'm very happy as a woman, thank you. The point I was trying to make was, that being a woman is just one part of what makes me who I am and you need to accept the whole me not try to separate the intellectual part from the emotional part.'

'I see.'

Martin thought about what Louisa had said and realised that she was right; they were both far too old for any fundamental changes in their characters to occur. Nodding, he said,

'What are you proposing?'

'That I won't comment when I think that you're being too logical and you won't comment when you think I'm being too emotional. It'll be hard, I know but I think we'll communicate much better if we're not criticising each other.'

'Agreed.'

Louisa smiled at Martin and pulled him into a hug. Martin stood stiffly for a moment before relaxing imperceptibly and putting his arms gently around her.

Paul reluctantly let go of Sally and, guiding her to a chair handed her a tissue. He would have liked to continue to hold her but didn't trust himself not to do something stupid, like kiss her to try to make her feel better. It was astonishing how your brain could be short-circuited by love, thought Paul. Intellectually he knew that Sally was overwhelmed with grief and probably barely knew who was with her, but he had still needed all of his self-control to let her go.

Sally shakily mopped her face and blew her nose. Paul sat in the chair next to her and said,

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'Not really.'

'Okay. How about something to eat?'

Sally grimaced and Paul said,

'Have you got any eggs?'

'Yes. Why?'

'How about scrambled eggs on toast?'

'Actually, I think I could manage that.'

Paul got up and started rummaging around the kitchen. After a couple of minutes, Sally joined him and they prepared the meal together. After they'd finished their scrambled eggs, Paul said,

'Would you like some fruit?'

'No, thank you.'

'Anything else?'

'Actually, I think I'd like a piece of cake. Elizabeth baked a fruit cake and brought it round. It's in the red cake tin.'

'With some tea?'

'Yes, please.'

Paul put the kettle on and made a pot of tea and they sat together and drank it with some of Elizabeth's excellent cake. Paul felt himself relaxing and without thinking he started talking about the paper that they were working on. Sally responded and when Sue came back, they were deep in discussion about which graphs to use to illustrate each point. Paul had got up to leave when there was a knock on the door. Paul said,

'I'll see who it is.'

He went downstairs and was surprised to find Ian Baker outside,

'Mr Baker, is Chelsey all right.'

'Yes.'

'Do you need a prescription filled? Mrs Tishell's closed for the day but if it's urgent, she might be willing to do it for you.'

'No, I need to talk to Sally.'

Ian's tone was serious and Paul remembered that he was a fisherman. With a feeling of foreboding he said,

'Have you found him?'

'Yes, well leastways the wife has.'

'Your wife found him?'

'Aye but Sally should be first to hear.'

Puzzled, Paul followed Ian upstairs into the kitchen. Once there, Ian paused, trying to find the words he needed. Paul prompted him, saying,

'Ian's got news.'

Sally looked at him in dawning horror and the look on her face spurred Ian into speech,

'Jane just rang. Clive's at the hospital.'

'At the hospital?' said Sally blankly, 'You mean he's alive?'

'Yes.'

'Is she sure?'

'Yes, she spoke with him herself.'

'But…why were his clothes on the cliff top? I don't understand.'

'Jane didn't have time to tell me any details except that he's not badly hurt, just hurt his feet walking in bare feet apparently.'

'So why didn't he call to say he was all right? Why did he take his clothes off anyway?'

Ian Baker reflected that Sally had always been able to see right to the point, that was what he'd asked Jane too,

'I don't know but apparently it didn't occur to Clive that people would think he was dead.'

Sally looked dissatisfied and Ian decided to escape before she thought to ask what Clive had done whilst wandering around naked,

'I need to let Penhale know.'

Ian turned and left before Sally could frame any of the questions whirling around in her brain.

Once he'd gone, Sally, Paul and Sue gazed at each other in amazement.

'I thought he was dead,' whispered Sally, 'but he's not.'

'No,' agreed Paul, longing to ask her if she was still going to divorce Clive.

Fortunately, Sue asked for him,

'So, what are you going to do now? Are you going to take him back?'

Paul stared at Sally with his heart pounding, waiting for her answer.

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	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Thirty

Sally gazed into space as she thought about Sue's question, her mind whirling. She had been really upset when she thought that Clive was dead but did that change anything? She had been grieving for him but was it as a lover or a friend? Even as she framed the question, she knew what the answer was,

'No, it doesn't change anything. I'm not in love with Clive any more.'

Paul somehow managed to contain his exultation, putting on his most controlled professional expression to conceal the joy that he felt. A moment later his heart stuttered as Sue said,

'Does that matter? He adores you and he brings in good money.'

'I know but the thing is…I don't find him attractive any more either. I haven't for a long time. When he comes home from the oilrig the first thing I want to know is when he's going back. It's not fair to him to keep pretending and I'm fed up of living a lie.'

'I suppose.'

'And if he adores me, why hasn't he called from the hospital to let me know that he's still alive?'

'He's probably worried about what you'll say, but you're right, he should have called.'

'No, I'm glad he's alive but I still want a divorce.'

Paul drew in a shaky breath and forced a smile down. Inwardly he was wildly happy but he knew that now was not the time to say anything. Instead, he said,

'I ought to go, it's getting late.'

Sally turned to him, saying almost shyly,

'Thank you for making me tea.'

'That's all right. I was glad to be able to help.'

Mindful of Sue's interested gaze, Sally didn't ask when she would see him again, simply saying,

'Goodbye.'

'Goodbye.'

Paul left and walked rapidly up to the surgery, being careful to keep his face neutral until he was inside. Going upstairs, he got ready for bed and then lay on the bed and daydreamed.

The following morning, Martin arrived at the surgery early so that he would have time to call Blackstone. He was pleasantly surprised to find the temporary receptionist already at her desk, going through the Appointments Diary,

'Morning, Doctor Ellingham.'

'Morning, Mrs…um…'

'Mrs Ryan, Doctor.'

'Yes.'

Martin disappeared into his consulting room and shut the door. He found the number for the General Medical Council and dialled. The receptionist put him through and he waited impatiently for the phone to be picked up,

'Blackstone.'

'Ellingham here.'

'Ellingham?'

'Port Wenn GP. You phoned about testifying against John Swallow.'

'Yes. Is there a problem?'

'Milligan said that he was in my year.'

'Yes, I hope that isn't a problem.'

'No, he isn't.'

'No, he isn't what?'

'He isn't the John Swallow from my year.'

'Yes he is. I've got his paperwork right here; John Edward Swallow, born October 12th 1972…'

'He's dead.'

'What?'

'That John Swallow died on the 17th May 1999.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

Martin's voice was curt as his phenomenal memory catapulted him back to that day. He and John had both been part of the elite, the few chosen to become cardio-vascular surgeons. They had studied together and worked together under one the leading surgeons at Imperial and John had been one of the few people that Martin had ever felt truly close to. On the 16th May 1999, John had tripped and fallen, banging his head on a metal bed frame on the way down. He had got up, laughing at his clumsiness and carried on working. By the time that they had realised that something was wrong, it was too late. They had operated but John had died the next day. Martin had reacted in the only way he knew; he had thrown himself into his work and had become even less sociable than before.

'You couldn't have got him mixed up with someone else?'

'No. He's dead.'

Martin heard a muttered swear word, then Blackstone said,

'Right. I'll sort it out.'

Martin hung up without another word.

Chelsey was bored. Her mum was asleep upstairs, Dad was at work and Emily was at school. She was allowed to watch children's television but all that was on were shows for toddlers. She had been listening to music with her headphones in but she was fed up with that now. She had some schoolwork to do but she'd finished the Maths and Science and only had English left to do and she didn't want to read or write a story. Anyway, she reasoned, she was supposed to read aloud and that might wake Mum. She briefly considered starting the story but when she looked at the work she discovered that she was meant to be writing about a talking animal and her mind went completely blank. Why was it that she could never think of things for English? Chelsey sighed and put her English book away. What else was could she do? She wasn't allowed to use the computer unsupervised, which was Emily's fault for demonstrating how easy it was for a genius to by-pass the parental controls. That left the garden. It was cold but dry and if she went into the front garden she might at least be able to talk to someone walking past. Putting on her coat and shoes, Chelsey went out into the garden.

At first Chelsey was disappointed. The street was deserted and there was no sign of anyone in the adjacent gardens. She was about to go indoors again when she heard a faint scuffing noise. Puzzled she looked around and was rewarded by seeing Rose climbing out of a tree in the garden opposite theirs. Chelsey waited until she was safely on the ground, then called out to her. Rose looked round and her face lit up,

'Hi Chelsey. Are you sick too?'

'Yes, I've got chickenpox.'

'Me too.'

'Do you want to come and play?'

'Yes. I'll go and ask Granny if I'm allowed.'

Rose disappeared into the house, re-appearing a couple of minutes later and crossing over to Chelsey's house. Chelsey beamed at her but remembered to say,

'Mum's asleep so we have to be quiet.'

'Okay.'

The two girls went into the house and Chelsey led Rose upstairs to her bedroom, happily planning which game to play first.

Sally Tishell put the phone down with a decided thump. Clive had finally decided to ring her from the hospital to let her know that he was alive, motivated more by guilt about the fishing boats looking for him than by concern for her feelings as far as Sally could tell. She had firmly suppressed her temper and let him talk but nothing he had said had changed her mind about the divorce. When he talked about the happy years they'd spent it was as if he was talking about an entirely different universe. Looking back, Sally knew that she should never have married him, they were completely unsuited. Staying married would be an awful thing to do to both of them. Clive deserved to be with someone who appreciated him and so did she. As she thought this, the image of Paul vehemently telling her that he'd loved her came into her mind and she blushed. She felt too raw and fragile to do anything yet but perhaps in a few weeks time she would ask Paul out on a date.

'Lou!'

Louisa flinched as she heard Danny's voice behind her but reluctantly turned around. Port Wenn was too small for her to be able to avoid Danny indefinitely so she might as well get it over with. At least being on her lunch break meant that she didn't have much time for a chat. Plastering a smile on her face, she said,

'Hello, Danny. How are you?'

'Much better, thanks. How are you?'

'Not too bad. A bit tired.'

'You look great.'

'Thank you, Danny. You look great too.'

'Thanks. Lou…'

'Yes?'

'Are you happy with Martin?'

Louisa paused and looked at Danny's expression for a moment wondering whether or not to answer him. His eyes were clear and lucid and his expression was calm. Shrugging inwardly and hoping that she was doing the right thing, Louisa said,

'Yes.'

'I…I'm glad,' said Danny averting his gaze.

'Thank you, Danny. That means a lot to me.'

'I'm sorry about what happened at the pub and for how I behaved earlier.'

'That's all right. You were ill, it wasn't your fault.'

'Thank you. It means a lot to me that you've forgiven me.'

'Danny, we've been friends for a long time; I knew that it wasn't the real you in the pub.'

'No.'

'But you're better now?'

'Getting there. Doctor Milligan is really helping.'

'Good. I'm glad.'

They stood in silence for a moment, then Danny said,

'I…um…wondered if you and Martin would like to have dinner with me one night.'

'That would be lovely, Danny.'

'When would suit you?'

'I'll have to talk to Martin and see if he's got anything on and we'll have to get a babysitter…can I call you?'

'Of course. You've got my number?'

'Yes.'

'Great. Talk to you soon then.'

Danny smiled at her and walked away leaving Louisa staring at him with a mixture of relief and trepidation. Relief that the awkwardness had gone but trepidation because she now had to find a way to tell Martin that they were having dinner with Danny, one of his least favourite people in the world. Louisa walked back towards the school, frowning as she tried to think of a way to persuade Martin to say yes.

**Please review. Thanks.**


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Thirty-one

'How was your day?'

Even as she said it, Louisa knew that she was stalling for time and hated herself for it. Martin hated small talk and she usually didn't bother asking him trivial questions any more.

'Fine,' replied Martin curtly.

'Good…I…bumped into Danny earlier. He seems much better.'

'Good.'

'He invited us to dinner.'

'I assume that you refused.'

'No, I said yes, actually.'

'Louisa, Danny Steel had a psychotic episode only a short time ago. Having dinner with him would be foolish.'

Martin forced himself to be patient but he found Louisa's continuing association with Danny baffling. The man was smug, hypocritical and annoying and he was still in love with Louisa. All of which were good enough reasons to avoid him, even without the psychotic episode. Add in the psychotic episode and Danny Steel went straight to the top of Martin's 'avoid whenever possible' list, right alongside his parents.

'He's been having treatment and he's feeling much better.'

'That's all right then! Louisa, patients with mental health problems are usually completely unable to assess their own condition.'

Martin's acerbic response raised Louisa's hackles and she responded in kind automatically,

'I know that, Martin, I'm not completely ignorant!'

'So why did you agree to have dinner with him then?'

'Because I could tell that he's much better.'

'You could tell? With your extensive medical training?'

'I could tell because I've known him all my life, Martin. No, I'm not a doctor but I know Danny. He wasn't talking about being born again or about his life being over. He was just normal.'

'Smug and irritating, you mean?'

'Martin! That wasn't very nice! And, no he wasn't, he was a bit regretful and quiet actually.'

'It doesn't sound as though he's back to normal to me.'

'Well, he was,' said Louisa, frustrated by Martin's hostility and by her own inability to explain how she knew that Danny was himself again. Martin just looked at her sceptically and Louisa felt her temper beginning to reach boiling point. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down and said,

'What if Doctor Milligan says that it's all right to go to dinner with him?'

Martin glared at her but Louisa refused to back down and eventually he said,

'If Milligan can assure me that there is absolutely no chance of Danny having a psychotic breakdown then I suppose it would be possible.'

The reluctance in Martin's voice was palpable and Louisa knew that he still wasn't convinced so she said,

'I'll talk to Doctor Milligan and if he has any doubts at all we won't go.'

Martin's expression lightened and Louisa relaxed and turned the conversation on to other things relieved to have crossed the first hurdle. As she carried Peter up to bed later, she wondered how many other excuses Martin would find for avoiding going to dinner with Danny.

Emily Baker walked slowly home from the bus stop, her mind on advanced calculus. She had started her Open University degree and was finding it hard to think about anything else. As she reached the cottage, she reluctantly pulled her mind back to other things, knowing that Chelsey would want attention. A few weeks ago, Emily would have ignored her and taken her maths books up to her room but that was no longer possible. Since Chelsey's horrific experience at the school, she needed Emily's attention so Emily fought the pull of her books and spent time with Chelsey instead. At least they could talk about Maths now that Chelsey had come clean about her ability. Perhaps Chelsey could be persuaded to come up to her room and learn some calculus or do some work towards her Maths GCSE whilst she continued her current module. Face brightening, Emily opened the back door and went in. No sooner had the door closed when she heard not one, but two pairs of footsteps coming downstairs and Chelsey and Rose came into the kitchen. Emily opened her mouth to remind Chelsey that she wasn't supposed to have friends over because she was still infectious but Chelsey beat her to it, saying,

'Rose has got chickenpox too so can I go and play with her at her granny's house?'

'It depends, have you asked Rose's granny if it's all right?

'Yes, I asked just now,' replied Rose.

'All right but be back at six. And be good.'

'Okay.'

Rose and Chelsey grabbed their coats and ran out and Emily picked up her maths books and headed upstairs for a blissful couple of hours of uninterrupted study. By the time she had reached her room, her mind was once again on the beauty of advanced calculus.

Feeling weary, Paul Milligan finished updating his patient notes and filed them, locking the filing cabinet. Sighing, he stretched and scrubbed his eyes before deliberately letting his mind go blank, ready to start clearing away the day's stress. With his mind blank, he took ten slow, deep breaths, feeling the stress drain gently away. Leaving his consulting room, he hesitated, undecided. He wanted to go and see Sally Tishell but was that the right thing to do? She was still recovering from the emotional turmoil of the last few days and didn't need any added emotional stress. But he longed to see her, to make sure that she was all right. In the quiet of the waiting room, Paul swore out loud and then forced himself to be honest with himself. He was concerned about her but his reasons for wanting to see her were all selfish; she made him feel whole and being apart from her hurt. Gritting his teeth, Paul made a decision and pulled his phone out and dialled,

'Hello?'

'Hello Sally.'

'Paul?'

'Yes. I rang up to see how you are.'

'Not too bad, thank you.'

'Good.'

'How are you?'

'I'm fine.'

'Good.'

'Um…well…I just wanted to say that if you want to talk about what happened, I'm happy to listen.'

Sally smiled slightly at the uncharacteristic nervousness in Paul's voice and paused before saying,

'Not really, not yet. But thank you.'

'You're welcome. Well…I'll call you again tomorrow then.'

'Yes…Except?'

'Yes?' said Paul eagerly.

'Did you want to finish choosing the graphs for our paper? It needs to be done.'

'Yes, it does. What time shall I come over?'

'In an hour?'

'Yes, see you in an hour.'

They said goodbye and hung up and Paul smiled at the empty room, suddenly feeling on top of the world. An hour later, he was knocking on the pharmacy door, his laptop in one hand and a pile of pharmaceutical reports in the other, feeling the most nervous that he could ever remember being. Sally opened the door and pulse racing, Paul stepped inside.

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	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Thirty-two

Sally smiled at Paul and Paul's heart raced even more. He returned Sally's smile, resisting the temptation to put his arms around her and kiss her. Sally led the way upstairs into her kitchen and Paul sat down beside her and opened his laptop. They began to talk about the paper that they were writing together and Paul's heart slowed down to its normal rhythm as he concentrated. Two hours later they had chosen the graphs to go in the paper and merely needed to put everything together and do a final edit before it could be submitted for peer review. Paul saved the file and then closed his laptop. He stirred, about to leave but Sally said,

'Would you like a cup of tea?'

'Yes, please.'

Sally got up and put the kettle on and Paul couldn't stop himself from admiring her, letting his eyes roam over her body. Sally realised that Paul was staring but made no attempt to stop him. She still felt very emotional and insecure after what had happened with Clive and it was nice to know that Clive wasn't the only man who found her attractive. Sally turned suddenly and Paul blushed, caught in the act. However, Sally merely looked amused so he stopped himself from apologising and forced his eyes up to her face.

'Would you like a piece of cake?' asked Sally.

'Yes, that would be great, thanks.'

Sally brought the cake and tea over to the table and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Sally broke the silence by asking how the children were coping with their trauma and Paul answered readily enough, keeping himself to generalities rather than specifics, even though he knew that Sally could be trusted to keep anything he said confidential. After that they talked about the villagers and people in general and before they realised it was gone midnight. Sally looked at the clock, shocked, and said,

'Look at the time!'

'I had no idea it was so late,' said Paul, 'I must go.'

'Yes,' agreed Sally, 'I must get some sleep.'

Paul gathered his stuff together and turned to leave, saying,

'Thank you for letting me come over to do this tonight, Sally.'

'You're welcome,' said Sally, 'I didn't want to be alone.'

Paul hesitated before eventually saying,

'You never have to be alone. I'll always come if you want me.'

Sally blushed and smiled shyly, saying,

'Thank you.'

Sally tried to find the words to express the confused emotions running through her. Knowing that Paul still felt strongly about her elated her but she was still hurt and disappointed by the break up of her marriage. There was also the fact that Paul was much too young for her. If she went out with him everyone would call her a cradle snatcher despite Paul being a lot more mature than Clive in many ways. Unable to articulate her feelings Sally pulled Paul into a hug. Paul put his laptop carefully down on the table and put both arms around Sally, enjoying being able to hold her. He knew it was much too soon for anything other than a hug but he was delighted that Sally trusted him enough to hug him. He could tell that Sally was overwhelmed so he didn't say anything but simply held her.

Louisa woke early and stared at the ceiling, thinking about her life. She thought about Peter and about Martin. Peter was already showing signs of being a very intelligent child but he was also a very happy baby. And Louisa was not arrogant enough to assume that that was just down to her skills as a mother. The fact was that despite his misgivings and somewhat clinical approach, Martin was a good father. He gave Peter attention and encouraged him to learn about the world around him. Of course in some ways having a baby was one of the easiest stages, she and Martin would face a lot of new challenges once Peter was walking and talking. Louisa turned and looked at Martin, lying asleep next to her. His face was relaxed and he looked younger and yet somehow he didn't look as attractive as he did when he was awake. Louisa let her eyes wander over Martin's face and body as she thought about the infuriating, adorable man that she was sharing her life with. She also thought about the things that she had discussed with Dr Milligan over the last few weeks. She hoped that one day Martin would talk about his abusive childhood but she knew that it probably wouldn't be any time soon, which meant that she needed to accept Martin as the man he was, not try to make him into some mythical creature of her imagination. Having accepted this, Louisa realised that Martin was never going to like Danny, they were too dissimilar. So was she being fair to Martin by trying to force him to have dinner with Danny? As she thought about it, Louisa realised that she'd been putting Danny's needs before Martin's. Danny needed to know that Martin had forgiven him and in Danny's mind this was accomplished by having a meal together. But was it fair to Martin to force him to have a meal with a man he disliked, wondered Louisa. She decided that the only thing to do would be to discuss it openly with Martin. Louisa looked at the clock and realised that they still had forty minutes before the alarm was due to go off. Smiling mischievously, she decided to see if she couldn't wake Martin up in a way that would be fun for both of them. Quickly slipping out of her pyjamas, she slid over to Martin's side of the bed and began removing his pyjamas, kissing his body as she went.

Martin and Louisa moved easily around the kitchen, getting themselves and Peter ready for the day ahead. As she packed Peter's bag, Louisa said,

'Martin, you don't like Danny, do you?'

'No,' said Martin slightly nervously, hoping that Louisa wouldn't be too angry.

'It's all right,' said Louisa, 'I don't expect you to like all of my friends. I suppose I was hoping that you and Danny would get along just because I've known Danny for such a long time. I know Danny wants you to come to dinner because he sees it as proof that you've forgiven him for attacking you but if you really hate the idea, I'll go on my own.'

Martin thought about what Louisa had said. He really didn't like Danny and part of him longed to tell Louisa to go on her own but his protective instincts kicked in; he didn't want Louisa to be alone with Danny Steel. Danny was unlikely to have any more psychotic episodes since the one that he'd had had been caused by incorrect medications, but he still didn't want Louisa being alone with him in case he frightened her. He knew that Louisa would think that he was being overprotective so he merely said,

'I'll come this time.'

'Thank you, Martin,' said Louisa, smiling happily at him, pleased that he was willing to help Danny put the episode behind him.

Martin was partway through his morning surgery when the phone rang. Irritated to be interrupted he barked into the phone,

'Ellingham.'

'Blackstone here.'

'Yes?'

'You were quite right, that man is no more John Swallow than I am. I had him arrested last night for impersonating a doctor. The police have been questioning him and as far as we can tell the man has no medical qualifications whatsoever.'

'What?'

'He's been impersonating John Swallow for about five years. He somehow managed to get copies of all John's certificates and has been posing as a locum, moving around the country, supposedly looking for a permanent post and in the meantime, killing who knows how many people. I've got people in five different Primary Care Trusts going through patient records, checking every diagnosis he ever made. We've already found two more deaths that are directly attributable to his diagnoses.'

'So he'll be charged with murder?'

'Yes, I've just briefed the inspector in charge of the case and the impostor has been officially charged with four counts of murder but there will probably be more.'

'That's disgraceful. Have you found out how he got hold of the certificates?'

'Not yet, I'm starting a full investigation.'

'Good, the level of incompetence in some areas of the bureaucracy is outrageous.'

'Hmm,' said Blackstone neutrally, unconvinced that it was necessarily a bureaucratic error.

'Is that everything?' demanded Martin, impatiently.

'Yes.'

Martin hung up and got back to his patients.

Chelsey flinched as the doorbell rang and rushed to answer it before the caller could ring again, desperately hoping that her mother had not been awoken by the sound. Opening the door she found herself looking at a young man wearing a boiler suit and carrying a clipboard. The man smiled ingratiatingly at her, saying,

'Is your mummy or daddy home?'

'Mum's asleep upstairs,' replied Chelsey, 'What do you want?'

'I've come to read the electricity meter.'

'Where's your badge then?' asked Chelsey.

'Here,' said the man, taking a badge out of his pocket and showing it to Chelsey for a fraction of a second, putting it away before she could read it. Chelsey looked at the man suspiciously. Her parents had been very careful to explain to her about not letting people into the house and this man's boiler suit was not the same as the one that the man who normally read the electricity meter wore. Making up her mind Chelsey said,

'I'm sorry, you'll have to come back. Mum's working nights and I'm not allowed to wake her up.'

'That's all right. No need to wake her, I'll just read the meter and then go.'

'I'm not allowed to let anybody in,' said Chelsey firmly.

The man looked annoyed and said,

'I'll only be a minute.'

By now Chelsey was convinced that the man was not who he said he was. She might only be six, but she was very intelligent and the way that the man was looking over her shoulder into the house was making her very uncomfortable. Taking a deep breath, she said,

'Sorry,' and started to shut the door.

The man put out his hand and stopped her from closing the door. Terrified, Chelsey leant her full weight on the door and did the only thing she could think of; she opened her mouth and screamed as loudly as she could.

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	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Thirty-three

Jane Baker was halfway down the stairs, Chelsey's scream echoing in her ears, before she even realised that she was awake. Seeing Chelsey struggling to hold the door closed she rushed down the stairs, oblivious to the fact that she was only wearing her pyjamas. The man pushing on the door took one startled look at Jane hurtling towards him, turned and ran. Jane followed him out into the street yelling at the top of her voice,

'Stop him! He tried to attack Chelsey.'

The street was quite quiet but Bert and Al were chatting to Fred Carter and Al and Fred immediately responded to Jane's cries for help, converging on the man with Bert lagging behind. The man ran as fast as he could, trying to escape, but the narrowness of the road made it impossible. In the end, in desperation, he turned and came back towards Jane, zigzagging to avoid her. However he was so intent on Jane that he didn't notice Rose's granny, Mrs Evans, who deftly slipped her walking stick between his legs, bringing him crashing to the ground. He scrambled to get up but he was too late; Al pushed him firmly back down and held him there, kneeling on the centre of his back and twisting his arms up behind him. Fred arrived and took hold of his legs. The man bucked and fought but they managed to hold him until Bert arrived. Bert took one look at what was going on and sat on the man's hips, pinning him to the ground. The man began to whine, saying,

'Ger off! You're hurting me!'

'Good,' said Jane, 'you attacked Chelsey!'

'You evil bastard,' said Al, twisting the man's arms higher onto his back.

The man gave a yelp of pain and said,

'I wasn't trying to attack her. I was just trying to get into the house so I could see if you had anything worth stealing.'

'You bugger,' said Mrs Evans indignantly, 'You told me that you were from the Electric.'

'We need to call PC Penhale,' said Bert.

Jane suddenly realised that she was out in the middle of the street in just her pyjamas and said,

'Good idea. I'll do it.'

Paul Milligan looked at Louisa thoughtfully, pursing his lips as he tried to decide whether or not Danny having dinner with Louisa and Martin was a good idea. Louisa waited patiently and eventually Paul said,

'I'm not sure. I don't think that you're in any danger but I'm not sure that it will help his recovery.'

'Really? I thought he was ever so much better.'

'He is but you and Martin are still a rather sensitive issue,' said Paul, trying to explain without breaking patient confidentiality.

'So why did he invite us then?' said Louisa, puzzled.

'I'm sure that you've noticed that Danny is very sensitive to social pressures? Overly sensitive in some cases.'

'Yes. He always has been.'

'I think Danny may have felt that he had to invite both of you to dinner even though he might not want to see either of you at all the moment.'

Louisa looked hurt and Paul hastened to elaborate,

'He's still in love with you Louisa; seeing you with Martin hurts.'

'I didn't realise,' said Louisa, 'he seemed so normal that I thought that he'd got over it.'

'He is trying to move on but he's not quite there yet.'

'So he was just pretending to be pleased to see me?'

'He may not have been pretending to be pleased to see you,' said Paul, 'Human beings are very complicated and we often feel several emotions at the same time. Also, he may have been secretly hoping that you would tell him that you had split up from Martin.'

'Oh,' said Louisa nonplussed, 'so we shouldn't have dinner with him, then?'

'Let me talk to Danny before you do anything; I could be wrong about his motivation.'

'All right.'

Joe Penhale drew up alongside the prone man with a squeal of brakes and leapt out of his vehicle. Going over to where Jane Baker, now dressed, was waiting with Mrs Evans, Joe took out his notebook and pencil and said magisterially,

'What's all this then?'

'He tried to force his way into my house whilst I was asleep. He scared poor Chelsey half to death.'

'Chelsey not at school today?'

'No, she's got chickenpox so she's not allowed to go in until the spots scab over.'

'I hope she gets better soon,' said Joe perfunctorily, 'What exactly was the sequence of events that led up to Mister Large, Mister Carter and Mister Large Senior performing a citizen's arrest?'

'Who are you calling 'Senior'?' said Bert indignantly.

'He said he was from the Electric.'

'I heard Chelsey scream.'

As all five locals started talking at once, Joe stopped writing and listened. After a couple of minutes he said,

'We'll have to do this at the station.'

He put handcuffs on the man on the floor, saying,

'I'm arresting you for impersonating an Electricity Company employee with intent to commit theft. You do not have to say anything but…'

Joe finished reading him his rights then led him to the police vehicle and put him inside then said,

'I need you all to come down to the station and give me a statement.'

'Of course, Officer,' said Bert, mindful of the outsider still in earshot.

The others nodded and Joe drove off, full of righteous joy that another perp had been caught and would soon be getting his just desserts.

Sally put the phone down with a sad sigh then stared blankly out of the window for a few minutes. She had made an appointment to see a divorce lawyer. She knew that it was the right decision but it still left her feeling hollow and sad. Someone banged on the door of the pharmacy and Sally shook herself out of her despondency; people needed her. Pushing her emotions to one side, Sally went downstairs, flipped the sign over to 'Open' and unlocked the door. Within minutes she was immersed in work, her absent and not very bright husband forgotten.

Martin tried to control his impatience as the young woman in front of him twisted her hands in her lap nervously, saying,

'Um…it's…'

'Yes?'

'You said that anyone who'd had sex with Mister Sutcliffe needed to come and see you?'

'Yes.'

'Well, I kind of did.'

'You kind of had sexual intercourse with Mister Sutcliffe?'

'Yes, sort of.'

'What? You either had sexual intercourse with him or you didn't. Which is it?'

'I didn't. But I did have sex with John Tailor, you see.'

'No, I don't see. What has that got to do with Mister Sutcliffe?'

'Well, I didn't know at the time, otherwise I would never have gone out with him, the cheating bastard, but John was also having sex with Mary Evans, popping in to see her whenever her husband was out at sea. And everyone knows that Mary and Frank have been having an affair for years and Frank's wife, Susan occasionally lets Mister Sutcliffe… well, you know.'

'So it's possible that you along with John, Mary, Frank and Susan could all have been infected by Mister Sutcliffe, is that what you're saying?'

'Yes.'

'You didn't use a condom?'

'Oh yes.'

'Then there is very little chance that you have become infected.'

'Are you sure, Doc? My friend Tracy told me that I could have caught it just from kissing.'

'No, you can't.'

'But Tracy said…'

'Is Tracy a doctor?'

'No… but she looked it up on the internet.'

'Looked it up on the internet? Of course she did! Ninety-nine percent of the medical information on the internet is either incorrect or misleading. If you have a problem, come and see me.'

'That's what I did!'

'Well… good.'

'So, I'm all right?'

'Have you had any symptoms? Any pain or burning sensation when urinating?'

'No.'

'Have you felt unwell at all in the last few days?'

'No.'

'Then you're fine.'

Martin sent the young woman on her way, saying,

'Get John and Mary and… the others to come and see me. And keep using condoms.'

'I always do, Doc.'

Martin sighed as he ushered his last patient out, he was not going to be able to make dinner early enough to avoid undesirable digestive activity at bedtime. Why did his patients insist on talking to him? If only they'd come in, tell him their symptoms, be quiet whilst he diagnosed them and then leave, he could be finished in half the time. Leaving Paul to lock up, Martin hurried home.

As soon as he stepped inside he heard Peter crying. Hurrying in to the lounge, he found Louisa trying to soothe Peter, rocking him in her arms.

'Martin, thank goodness you're here, I can't get him to settle.'

Martin took Peter from Louisa and began walking up and down with him, assessing his physical condition as he did so.

'Has he eaten?'

'Yes and had his milk. And I've changed his nappy and winded him.'

'Hmm… has he been crying all the time?'

'No, he was quite happy until about twenty minutes ago.'

Martin patted Peter on his back, then rubbed firmly. Without any warning Peter vomited all over Martin, covering his shirt, jacket and tie with milk and baby rice. Martin looked at his now smiling son in disgust, saying,

'Another suit ruined.'

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	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: Doc Martin is the property of Buffalo Pictures. I own nothing.

Chapter Thirty-four

Paul walked eagerly towards the pharmacy. He hadn't expected to see Sally this morning but one of his patients had been on the same antidepressants for years and Paul wanted to give her something that should have fewer side effects. However, since she had a history of reacting to medicines, Paul wanted to confer with Sally before prescribing. Ahead of him, he saw Danny Steel going into the pharmacy. Without conscious thought, Paul started walking more quickly.

Sally carefully locked the prescriptions' cabinet as she heard the door open. Turning round, she saw Danny Steel browsing the first aid equipment. Smiling, she said,

'Can I help?'

'I need some blister plasters. I went for a walk yesterday and didn't realise until it was too late that I'd got a stone in my shoe. I've got a massive blister on my little toe.'

'Oh dear,' said Sally sympathetically, 'that must be sore.'

'It is.'

'Now, do you want just a padded plaster or do you want a specialised blister plaster?'

'Which would you recommend?'

'The specialised blister plasters are very good, particularly if it's very sore. Just make sure that the toe is completely dry before you put it on.'

Sally took the correct plasters from the rack, went over to the till and scanned the plasters, then said,

'Can I get you anything else?'

'No, thank you.'

Danny paid but instead of leaving said,

'Thank you for all your help.'

'You're welcome. I'm always glad to help particularly when it's a local like you.'

'You're such a caring person.'

'Thank you,' said Sally hesitantly, suddenly reminded of Paul's warning.

'I'm going back to London in a few weeks; perhaps you could come and visit me.'

'I'm rather busy at the moment.'

'Oh, yes, I heard. You're getting divorced.'

'Yes, so I'm afraid I need to be here at the moment, for meetings and so forth.'

'Of course. I understand. Perhaps after it's all sorted out?'

'Perhaps.'

'Well, why don't I give you my London number, just in case you want to get away for a few days.'

'That's very kind of you…'

Danny took out a business card and handed it to Sally, who was suddenly very glad that she the counter was between them. The door opened and Paul came in and Sally beamed with relief, saying,

'Doctor Milligan, how lovely to see you.'

Danny turned away from the counter slowly, saying,

'Hello.'

'Hello, Danny. Good to see you're taking my advice.'

'Yes,' replied Danny, reluctantly, 'I'm getting out and about, as you recommended.'

'Good.'

Paul waited and Danny forced a smile and said,

'Bye.'

Paul and Sally both said goodbye and Danny left. As soon as he'd gone, Paul looked worriedly at Sally and said,

'Are you all right?'

'Yes, he just wanted to invite me to stay with him in London.'

'What did you say?'

The concern in Paul's voice made Sally feel warm; how many years had it been since someone cared that much?

'I told him that I was too busy at the moment and when he pushed I said that perhaps I would after my divorce has come through.'

Paul felt himself relax and chided himself; Sally was very intelligent and used to looking after herself. Of course she'd handled the situation well. He smiled at her and said,

'Good.'

'She smiled back and said,

'Do you need something or have just come for lunch? I've got pasties.'

'A pasty sounds lovely but I do need to pick your brains too.'

'Oh?'

'It's Michelle Williams. I want to change her medication but I'm concerned about side effects and I don't want to stop the natural grieving process either.'

Michelle was Jack's mother and Paul wanted her to grieve for her dead son but with a history of severe depression, he wanted to give her the support that she needed too.

Sally paused at the foot of the stairs, saying,

'Let me think about it while we eat.'

Paul nodded and followed Sally upstairs.

Chelsey looked up reluctantly as Miss Glasson called her name; she had been telling her friends all about her adventure the day before with the burglar and didn't want to stop. However, Miss Sykes was calling the class to order and her friends all went back to their seats so Chelsey obediently followed Miss Glasson out of the classroom. Chelsey smiled as Miss Glasson said,

'Are you feeling better, Chelsey?'

'Yes, thank you.'

'Good. Ready to get your brain working?'

'Yes, Miss Glasson,' said Chelsey, puzzled.

She followed Miss Glasson into her office where a strange woman was waiting. The woman stood up and said,

'Hello, Chelsey.'

'Hello,' said Chelsey hesitantly.

'Chelsey, this is Miss Potter. She's going to teaching you maths from now on.'

Chelsey looked at Miss Potter doubtfully but allowed Miss Glasson to lead her over to the table in the corner. Miss Potter sat down and said,

'I thought we'd start with some multiplication.'

Chelsey sat down, reassured that at least they weren't starting with baby stuff like addition.

Louisa sat down at her desk and listened with half an ear as Chelsey demonstrated how thoroughly she'd fooled them all by rapidly moving past any arithmetic that Louisa had ever been able to do.

'Little pickle,' thought Louisa, 'She's been reading Emily's old textbooks.'

With a smile, Louisa started answering letters.

Martin stifled a yawn as Mrs Lewis rambled on about her mysterious pain that came and went with no rhyme or reason. Cutting her short, he said,

'Are your bowels normal after you've had the pain?'

Indignant at being interrupted, Mrs Lewis glared at him but eventually said,

'Actually, no, Doc. It's always a bit loose afterwards.'

'Any blood in your stools?'

'No.'

'It's something you're eating. Do a food diary and make a note of when you're in pain and when your bowels are loose. Come back in a fortnight.'

'It can't be something I'm eating. We've never had no food allergies or anything in my family. Besides, my diet hasn't changed and I never used to get any pain.'

'People's bodies change as they get older. Things that you used to be able to eat may now upset your stomach.'

'Are you saying I'm old?'

'No, you're middle-aged.'

'What? How dare you!'

Martin glared at Mrs Lewis exasperatedly as she stormed out; sometimes he didn't know why he bothered. Going into the waiting room, he said,

'Pauline, make sure…'

Remembering that it wasn't Pauline on reception, he cut himself off. Taking a deep breath, he said,

'Mrs Ryan, can you make sure that Mrs Lewis comes back in a fortnight please. And tell her to follow my instructions.'

Martin cursed the need to be vague but Bert Large was in the waiting room and he learnt early on that anything said in front of Bert was said to the whole village.

'Yes, Doctor Ellingham.'

'Who's next?'

'Mister Large,' said Mrs Ryan handing Martin Bert's notes.

'Come through,' said Martin, ushering Bert into his consulting room.

Bert sat down and Martin said,

'How are you?'

'Right as rain, thanks, Doc.'

'Then why are you here?'

'It's Al…'

'What about Al?'

'I…I think he's got post-traumatic stress disorder.'

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